Five years ago this past Sunday Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin murdered George Floyd. Three other officers assisted, also pressing their weight upon Floyd’s prone unresisting dying form, and/or warning bystanders back—at one point with mace. There were many bystanders. Who pleaded with the officers to cease and desist. But the officers preferred not to. Some of these bystanders were filming Floyd’s murder, and the officers knew that. But they didn’t care. To them, what they were doing was Normal. Floyd was a miscreant, suspected of paying for a pack of cigarettes with a counterfeit $20 bill—he needed to go first to the jail, and then, hopefully, the penitentiary. This, was the officers' Duty. They ordered Floyd out of his own vehicle, at gunpoint, and then instructed him to get in a police car. Floyd said he was panicky, claustrophobic, having trouble breathing. They threw him in the car. Then Chauvin decided he didn’t want Floyd in the car, and drug him full-length off the passenger seat and onto the street. Floyd lying with his chest pressed to the asphalt, Chauvin then kneeled on his neck. For nine minutes.

Chauvin had been kneeling on necks for years. As had law jockeys all across the nation. Such was Normal. Chauvin and two of the other officers now murdering Floyd had kneeled on a neck earlier that very month. Nobody said shit. Chauvin while on the force had previously killed people. Nothing happened to him. In September of 2017 he had bashed a 14-year-old black youth on the head with his flashlight, spouting blood, then kneeled on the child’s neck for 17 minutes. There was video of that one, too. But, such, was simply Normal. So Chauvin was then free to go. To go kneel on more necks. One of Chauvin’s cop confederates in murdering Floyd had previously kicked, beaten, knelt on a man, busting out his teeth—the man was given $25,000 to try to find more teeth; the cop stayed on the force. Such, such: Normal.

Sixteen times Floyd said he couldn’t breathe. Chauvin was unmoved—miscreants always be lying-ass about such shit, especially when they are of melanin. One of Chauvin’s confederates blithely (wrongly) opined if Floyd could talk, he could breathe. Another chortled to the crowd, “this is why you don’t do drugs, kids.” When Floyd said “I’m about to die,” Chauvin said, “relax.”

Shortly after, Floyd fully relaxed. Forever. Not moving. Not breathing. A confederate suggested checking his pulse. There was no pulse. Chauvin, he kept his knee, on the lifeless neck, until the ambulance arrived.

That Floyd died, Chauvin and his confederates gave no shits. That certainly didn’t mean they’d done anything wrong! Miscreants in contact with police die all the time. And, when they do, it’s the fault of the miscreant. Especially when, as with Floyd, they are of melanin. Cops learn this from the very top. As when LAPD chief Daryl Gates pronounced that chokeholds weren’t a problem, it was instead the fact that black people have an “anatomical defect in their necks,” that causes them to react with more distress than “normal people.” They die because they are mutant. No doubt some anatomical mutantcy, in Floyd, had croaked him, too.

When, the day after Floyd died, Chauvin and his three confederates were fired, they were stunned. The fuck? How could they have done anything wrong? They were just doing what law jockeys had been doing in the US for 450 years! They knew they were being filmed, shit-yeah, and that just shows what they were doing was Normal—else they would have left off! For even after the coming of the cameras, killer cops continued to be told of their (now-recorded) killings—yes, that’s Normal. So why was everyone in the nation, and even the world, now suddenly screaming hang ‘em high? Something clearly had gone aberrant in the humans. Chauvin was the first white Minnesota police officer in the history of homo sapiens to be charged with the murder of a black man—not once, going all the way back to the monolith, had such a thing occurred!

What happened to Chauvin & Co., is they ran into steam-engine time. Charles Fort observed “it steam engines when it comes steam-engine time.” Meaning a thing doesn’t happen, until it does; when it’s time for it. You can’t predict it, you can’t control it. Like the storming of the Bastille. That imposing edifice stood for centuries as the symbol of the absolute unchecked power of French kings: people were imprisoned there solely because in some way they had offended the bigly. But when it was finally stormed, it had mostly fallen into disuse—there were only three people in there. But that was the time, when came Bastille-storming time. Similarly, the murder of George Floyd may have been no more egregious than many other such murders. But that was the one when among the Americans it became no mas time—something’s got to be done about these cops killing these melanins! A similar moment arrived when Daryl Gates’ boys went all “gorillas in the mist” on Rodney King. Every 30 years or so, the Americans awake to the fact cops routinely beat and kill black people for No Reason. And then they get worked up about it. For a while.

Chauvin, ritually, became a scapegoat. The ancient Hebrews, they would each year sacrifice one goat—kill it. A second goat they would symbolically load with all of their sins, and drive it into the wilderness, hoping thereby to expiate all the wrongs they had done, so they might stand purified, cleansed. Here, the first goat was George Floyd. The second: Derek Chauvin.

The Kleagle from the get-go burned with fury that Chauvin was scapegoated. For Chauvin—the Kleagle’s sort of fellow! So what if Floyd got dead? Wasn’t he of melanin? All good melanin, much less bad, needs to be dead! Lest it soil the White Power House! When people took to the streets to protest Floyd’s murder, the Kleagle had to be prevented by main force from invoking the Insurrection Act and dispatching the military to open at all times fire—at least at the legs! Here amid his second occupation of the White Power House, the Kleagle is about cleansing Floyd’s name from all and every. He will not be satisfied until it is like Floyd has never been. He already successfully commanded complete obliteration of street murals in Washington DC acknowledging Floyd. He intends this erasure to tsunami across all the nation.

Those who today most have the Kleagle’s maxi-padded ear—nazis all—are in frenzied St. Vitus Dance that Chauvin must be pardoned. From Cucker KKKarlson to Elon Muskow, Tim Pool to Mike Cernovich, Marjorie Hitler Greene to Christopher Rufo, Jack Posobiec to Charlie Kirk, the word foamingly goes forth—Floyd killed himself! He had an anatomical defect causing traces of minor amounts of fentanyl and methamphetamine in his system to suddenly up and boneyard him. Floyd would have croaked out even if Chauvin had never come unto his neck! Chauvin is innocent as Jesus the Christ! He must be freed!

It is Known the Kleagle would like to pardon Chauvin, and at top speed. The vast and unending creeping sliming pool of utter filth he has already pardoned today constitutes a veritable reeking sea. What’s one more!? But it is expected the melanins—cursed, like Ham, be their name—will then have an eruption. When said pardon comes down. And so the Kleagle. He is waiting. For the moment. Of maximum impact. So that then. When. The maximum number of melanins. May be imprisoned. Deported. Killed.

All of this was Known, on the first day of the Kleagle’s reoccupation of the White Power House. When he pardoned or commuted the sentences of every one of the more than 1600 orcs who had been convicted of January 6 assaulting the Capitol, at the Kleagle’s explicit command, to there murder, rapine, overthrow the government. January 6 like the storming of the Bastille, but in counterclock world. Dimbulb angry mouthbreathing yeehaw dumb-as-two-dirts bonedeep racist nazis hooting and hollering dragging their knuckles to extinguish among the Americans democracy. At which they nearly succeeded. The DOJ then commenced the largest and most thorough and most comprehensive and most rigidly rule-round investigation and prosecution in its history. Which the Kleagle, on his second day-one, wiped all away. The US then ceasing to exist as a democratic nation. Instead just a helpless bound yawning orifice. Into which the Kleagle can gleefully squeeze, his watery KFC-clogged reeking turds.

That the sane and decent Americans didn’t then mount their own assault on the Bastille, at their democracy being wiped away, means they’re useless as tits on a boar hog—maybe something for vestigial show, but of no actual use whatsoever.

So of course Derek Chauvin is lord. Of course he will be pardoned. He is but one of many inevitable dominoes. To fall. Following that day-one Kleagle pardoning. Of the most traitorous mob to threaten the country since the Civil War. With those pardons, the Kleagle erased the United States. From. This earth. And. For all time.

Anything. Now. Is possible.

So long. As it marches. Upon a Kleagle. Road of bones.