You have the fucking audacity to call it courage?
Throwing bricks, swinging pipes, ambushing cops in the dead of night, spitting in their faces, slashing tires, doxxing their families...that’s your gold standard of bravery?
You sit there, safe behind your glowing screen, jerking off to videos of chaos you’ll never have the balls to join in person, and you label that rabid, pack-mentality violence as heroic?
Let me educate your delusional ass, because clearly no one ever has.
That’s not courage. That’s the desperate, frothing hysteria of weak men who’ve spent their entire lives marinating in grievance until it curdled into hate.
It’s classic psychological projection: you feel small, insignificant, powerless against a world that doesn’t bend to your toddler-like demands, so you lash out at the nearest symbol of order and authority. You attack the men and women who actually show up...the ones who run toward the danger while you’re busy rage-tweeting from mommy’s basement...because hurting them lets you pretend, for one fleeting second, that you matter.
It’s the coward’s high. The cheap dopamine hit of destruction without consequence. You don’t risk your own skin; you let the mob absorb the blows while you signal your virtue to other spineless keyboard gladiators. Deep down, in the places you refuse to look, you know you’re a fraud. That’s why the rage is so volcanic...because the moment the adrenaline fades, the emptiness rushes back in.
Real courage? Real fucking courage is the officer who kisses his kids goodbye every morning knowing today might be the day some entitled, brain-rotted thug like the ones you worship decides to make him a martyr for “the cause.”
It’s the cop standing in subzero windchill, shielding civilians from your rioting pets while bottles and frozen piss rain down on his helmet. It’s holding the line when the politicians you slobber over have already sold it out for votes.
It’s going home with bruises, burns, and PTSD, then getting up the next day to do it again...because if they don’t, animals like you win.
You romanticize assaulting cops because it’s the closest you’ll ever come to feeling strong. You wrap your violence in pretty words...“resistance,” “justice,” “speaking truth to power”...but strip away the slogans and what’s left is just another bully picking on someone who can’t hit back without losing everything.
It’s parasitic. It’s pathetic. And it’s fucking evil.
Every brick thrown, every punch landed, every “fuck the police” chant you amplify chips away at the foundation that keeps society from devolving into the lawless shithole you secretly crave...because in that world, you think your ideology would finally reign.
Newsflash, genius: in that world, stronger monsters than you would eat you alive first.
So take your inverted morality, your performative outrage, your cowardly cosplay of revolution, and ram it so far up your ass you taste the hypocrisy for weeks.
Violence against our officers isn’t courage.
It’s the death rattle of a dying civilization, cheered on by useful idiots like you.
You’re not a rebel. You’re not a hero.
You’re a traitor to everything that ever made this country worth defending.
And every single one of you applauding this filth is beneath contempt...beneath pity, beneath redemption.
Fuck you, Hussain. Fuck you and every last one of your enablers. Hard.