Over the weekend, we witnessed the pre-pubescent insolence of our country’s crybaby, leftist, 60s throwbacks in the manufactured “Hands Off” protests. While their social media narrative creators enhance the attendance numbers by the power of ten on the internet, the rest of us identify that they are nothing more than paid activists, photographed from advantageous angles, screeching to preserve the spendthrift, status quo bureaucracy that has been feeding at the taxpayer feedtrough for far too long....
Over the weekend, we witnessed the pre-pubescent insolence of our country’s crybaby, leftist, 60s throwbacks in the manufactured “Hands Off” protests. While their social media narrative creators enhance the attendance numbers by the power of ten on the internet, the rest of us identify that they are nothing more than paid activists, photographed from advantageous angles, screeching to preserve the spendthrift, status quo bureaucracy that has been feeding at the taxpayer feedtrough for far too long.
Today’s “protest anything” liberals are a pathetic spectacle, a gaggle of self-righteous, uninformed clowns tripping over their own sanctimony in a desperate bid to feel relevant. They’re the kind of people who’d march against gravity if TikTok told them it was oppressive, clutching their soy lattes and megaphones, screaming about injustices they can’t even define, while tightening their man-buns.
These are not the principled radicals of yesteryear; they’re a hollowed-out caricature, a generation of intellectual lightweights who stand for nothing but the dopamine hit of their own outrage. They’re not just ignorant; they’re proudly, willfully uneducated, letting their feelings bulldoze over facts like a toddler tantrum in a Walmart store aisle. It’s a tragic comedy: the perpetually offended, armed with nothing but vibes, a $1000 smartphone, and a Wi-Fi connection.
What’s most galling is their utter lack of context. They’ll chain themselves to a tree or glue their hands to a highway over “climate justice” without knowing the first thing about carbon cycles, renewable energy trade-offs, or global emissions stats. They’ll wail about “systemic racism” in a country that’s spent decades dismantling legal segregation, yet couldn’t tell you what the Civil Rights Act actually says—probably because reading it would cut into their Instagram scroll time.
They protest wars they can’t locate on a map, economic systems they’ve never studied beyond a Bernie Sanders-AOC “Stop Oligarchy” tweet, and corporations whose products they’re still buying on Amazon Prime. It’s not activism; it’s ignorant, self-centered, performative chaos; a live-action roleplay for people too lazy to crack a book, question a headline, or do their own fucking research. They’re allergic to specifics and facts because facts and specifics might demand actual thought.
And oh, how they fetishize the 1960s—like it’s some golden age of rebellion they’re destined to resurrect. They’re obsessed with Woodstock vibes, tie-dye aesthetics, and grainy footage of sit-ins, as if slapping a peace sign on their BlueSky bio makes them kin to MLK or the anti-Vietnam marchers.
Newsflash: the ‘60s radicals had skin in the game—draft cards burning in their pockets, real oppression bearing down, and a coherent enemy in the military-industrial complex. Today’s protesters? They’re just nostalgic for a relevance they never earned, chasing a retro fantasy where they’re the heroes without doing the homework.
The Summer of Love wasn’t a hashtag campaign—it was a cultural upheaval, messy and grounded in specifics these modern wannabe posers couldn’t begin to grasp. They’re not inheritors of that legacy; they’re tourists in it, snapping selfies at the gift shop.
Worse, they’re useful idiots, and self-righteously so—marionettes jerked around by bought-and-paid-for community organizers bankrolled by far-Left, deep-pocket oligarchs. These aren’t grassroots warriors; they’re foot soldiers for billionaires like George Soros, Tom Steyer, or the Pritzker clan, who funnel cash through shadowy NGOs to orchestrate chaos under the guise of “social change.”
The irony’s thick enough to choke on: they rage against “the 1%” while doing the bidding of plutocrats who’d never deign to share a zip code with them, let alone a tax bracket. Those purchased organizers show up with pre-printed signs, megaphones, and a script, and these useful idiots lap it up, too blinded by their own moral pseudo-superiority to ask who’s signing the checks. It’s not a movement; it’s a machine, and they’re the disposable grease—lubricating the gears of an agenda they’re too dim to decipher.
Feelings are their god, and common sense is the heretic they’ve burned at the stake.
Watch them sob over “injustice” without a shred of data to back it up—because why let reality ruin a good cry? They’ll block traffic to “save the planet,” ignoring the idling engines spewing fumes around them, or the fact that their own carbon footprint rivals a small factory. They’ll shriek about “fascism” while silencing anyone who disagrees, oblivious to the contradiction staring them in the mirror. Facts? Those are for oppressors. Nuance? A tool of the patriarchy. They’d rather drown in their own tears than admit the world’s messy and their slogans don’t fix it. It’s not bravery; it’s ignorant cowardice dressed up as virtue, a refusal to wrestle with complexity because that might mean they’re wrong—and God forbid their fragile egos take a hit.
The hypocrisy serves as a neon sign of their intellectual bankruptcy. They’ll decry capitalism while snapping selfies on those $1,000 iPhones assembled in Chinese factories by slavelaborers. They’ll boycott Chick-fil-A for its CEO’s opinions but not the sweatshop-made hoodie they’re wearing—or the fast fashion haul they just vlogged about. They’re anti-establishment until the establishment pats them on the head—then they’re all in, licking the boots of any opportunistic politician, celebrity, or blue-check influencer who mirrors their tantrums back at them. These aren’t revolutionaries; they’re conformists in trans-rebel drag, parroting whatever the loudest voice in their echo chamber tells them to feel. Their rebellion is as authentic as a knockoff Gucci bag.
At their core, they’re irrelevant—not because the issues they latch onto don’t matter, but because they bring nothing to the table but noise. No solutions, no depth, just a primal scream into the void. They’re not changing the world; they’re annoying it, and deep down, they know it. That’s why they cling to the ‘60s ghost—they’re terrified of being forgotten, of being the nobodies history will prove them to be.
So they march, they chant, they glue themselves to something, anything, hoping the optics will make them matter. But optics aren’t substance, and feelings aren’t facts. They’re a protest generation that’s lost the plot, manipulated by puppet masters they’re too dim to spot, and too arrogant to care.
Pathetic doesn’t even begin to cover it—they’re a walking obituary for critical thought, and they wrote it themselves.
Then, when we return, our segment on America’s Third Watch, broadcast nationally from our flagship station WGUL AM930 & FM93.7 in Tampa, Florida.
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Trump’s Tariffs End DecadesOf Schwab’s Globalist Exploitation
Since the end of World War II, the world has been sold a utopian dream: globalism, the idea that dissolving national borders and fostering interdependence would lead to peace, prosperity, and unity. The globalist elite—unelected bureaucrats, corporate titans, and technocrats like Klaus Schwab—promised that intertwining economies and cultures would lift all boats. Instead, this grand experiment has capsized, leaving national economies battered, international relations strained, and the average citizen paying the price for the hubris of a disconnected ruling class.
Far from delivering harmony, globalism has eroded sovereignty, hollowed out industries, and set the stage for a reckoning—one that leaders like Donald Trump are finally addressing with bold, abrupt, unapologetic moves like reciprocal tariffs.
Let’s start with Trump’s tariffs, a policy smeared by the globalist cheerleaders as “protectionist” or “isolationist.” The reality is—in the long run, they’re a lifeline for the United States. For decades, America has been the world’s doormat—exporting jobs, importing cheap goods, and letting countries like China exploit lopsided trade deals. The US trade deficit ballooned to $945.3 billion in 2022 alone, a testament to how globalism gutted American manufacturing while fattening the wallets of foreign regimes.
Trump’s reciprocal tariffs flip the script: if you hit us with tariffs, we hit back—hard. This isn’t about starting a trade war; it’s about ending the one America’s been losing for years. By leveling the playing field, these tariffs incentivize domestic production, bring jobs back to American soil, and force other nations to rethink their predatory trade practices. The US economy grows stronger when it stops hemorrhaging wealth to subsidize everyone else’s.
The ball’s now in the court of other world leaders. Globalism’s house of cards relies on America playing the sucker—absorbing trade imbalances while its own workers suffer. Trump’s tariffs signal that the free ride is over. If countries like Germany, Japan, or India want to avoid a debilitating international trade war, they’ll need to equalize their trade policies with the United States. No more flooding American markets with subsidized goods while slapping barriers on US exports.
The European Union, for instance, loves to preach “fair trade” but maintains a $180 billion trade surplus with the US as of 2023. That’s not fairness; it’s exploitation. These nations can either adapt—cutting their own tariffs and opening markets—or face the consequences of a US that finally prioritizes itself. The choice is theirs, but the era of America as the world’s economic punching bag is done.
Then there’s China, the globalist poster child that was supposed to dethrone the US as the world’s economic kingpin. The reality? China’s economy is a paper tiger, nowhere near strong enough to usurp America’s consumer market. Beijing’s growth has been fueled by debt, communist state-controlled industries, and a relentless exploitation of Western openness—think intellectual property theft and currency manipulation.
In 2024, China’s real estate bubble teetered on collapse, its population shrank for the second straight year, and its export-driven model hit a wall as global demand softened. The US, meanwhile, remains the world’s consumption engine—$18 trillion in annual consumer spending compared to China’s $6 trillion. China needs America’s market far more than America needs China’s factories. Trump’s tariffs expose this imbalance, weakening Beijing’s leverage and proving that the US can thrive without being tethered to a faltering giant.
While tariffs get scapegoated as economic villains, the real chaos comes from the globalist elite—none more so than Klaus Schwab, the self-appointed architect of the “Great Reset” and, until recently, head of the World Economic Forum (WEF).
For decades, Schwab has peddled a totalitarian vision where national sovereignty bends to the will of supranational organizations and corporate overlords. His tenure has been a masterclass in economic sabotage: pushing policies like ESG (Environmental, Social, Governance) mandates that strangle businesses with red tape, advocating for digital currencies that erode financial autonomy, and championing a borderless world that dilutes labor markets and wages. The WEF’s Davos crowd cheers as supply chains stretch thin, energy prices soar under “green” agendas, and inflation ravages the working class—all while they jet-set to their next summit.
Compare that to tariffs, which are targeted, transparent, and reversible. Schwab’s meddling has done more to destabilize economies than any trade policy ever could.
The post-WWII globalist experiment promised unity but delivered division. National economies—like America’s—have been sacrificed to prop up a system that benefits a tiny elite while leaving nations vulnerable to supply chain shocks, as seen during the COVID pandemic, when reliance on foreign goods became a liability. International relations? They’re worse than ever, with distrust festering between nations forced into unnatural interdependence. Look at the US and China: globalism didn’t foster friendship—it bred rivalry, espionage, and a cold war redux. The European Union, once a globalist darling, is fracturing under the weight of its own contradictions—Brexit was just the start.
Trump’s tariffs, China’s fragility, and the failures of figures like Schwab expose globalism for what it is: a fantasy that enriched the few at the expense of the many.
Nations thrive when they control their own destinies, not when they’re yoked to a sinking global ship. Other leaders can cling to the old playbook, but they’ll find the US under leaders like Trump won’t play along. The move toward interdependence didn’t unite the world—it weakened it. It’s time to admit the experiment failed and chart a course back to sovereignty, strength, and self-reliance.
The globalist elite won’t like it, but the people they’ve ignored for decades just might.
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