May drive a car: How to spot a domestic terrorist, by JD Vance

DOMESTIC extremists lurk everywhere, ready to strike by opposing self-evidently righteous actions taken by president Trump and myself. Here’s how to spot them:

May drive a car

A car can be used as a weapon, as our heroic ICE agents discovered this week. Even if following orders to leave the area, moving slowly or parked, the person behind that wheel might as well have their knife at an agent’s throat. In such cases the agent has a moral duty to shoot first and forcibly stop any medical help reaching their target later.

Could be white

As the shocking events of Wednesday showed, not every domestic terrorist is black, brown or Hispanic. Some of them may, at first glance, seem ordinary, law-abiding white supremacists like you or me but their minds have been corrupted by the mainstream media to oppose MAGA by any means necessary, including voting.

Might be in an area

The professional agitator consumed by violence and hatred ICE saved America from this week was in an area where agents were operating. These are cities that elected Democrats and so must be considered hostile territory: free-fire zones to be entered weapons hot. That ICE leave so many living is evidence of their tremendous mercy.

May stop ICE doing their job

As federal agents, ICE are doing their jobs. Whatever they are doing is doing their jobs, and their job is to identify anyone trying to stop or slightly delay them doing their jobs. Even by blocking bullets with your bodies you are impeding them in doing their job, and they are therefore authorised in firing again and again.

Possibly none of the above

Above all, domestic extremists are cunning, lying creatures, ready at any moment to conceal their sedition behind a lifetime of law-abiding innocence. They may have carefully avoided any of the above traits which only makes them more dangerous, and the ICE agent standing above their body with a smoking gun even more of a hero.

Trump didn’t want to do this so he let me do it

Like an ICE agent pardoned in the January 6th riots then allowed to join the president’s private police force despite convictions for racist violence, I am proud to serve. So when president Trump declined the opportunity to cover up a murder with a grunt and indicated I could do it, I was quicker than an ICE agent on the trigger. I get to be president next.

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I love a pint of alcohol and a scampi: Why I am a regular bloke who supports pubs, by Keir Starmer

I WISH to make it clear that I do not hate pubs, in fact I am a huge fan of these places you like. How boring would life be without a lovely pint of Wife Beater and a game of ‘arrows’?

You may have got the impression I was planning to increase business rates for pubs but instantly caved when the Mail and Sun started kicking up a fuss about it. No. It was because I love pubs, and am always ‘up the boozer’ having ‘banters’ with ‘the lads’. Although usually it’s just Rachel Reeves. 

It is no exaggeration to say that pubs are the heart and lungs of Britain and without them society could not function. Every night these beloved community hubs are thronged with Britons uniting as a nation to enjoy a traditional sharing platter and a fight.

That is why I will fight to my last breath to protect our public houses and your right to drink in them – your right to put on weight, your right to develop an alcohol dependency, your right to come home shitfaced and piss in a wardrobe.

Yes, I am passionate about what we drinkers call ‘the old rub-a-dub’. And if you doubt my commitment, let me tell you another boring story about my father. Every night he would come home weighed down by the bag of tools he used to make tools, exhausted but brimming with self-respect after an honest day’s graft.

The first thing he would say to me was: ‘Keir, lad, run to t’pub and tell t’landlord to ‘ave a packet of cheese and onion crisps waiting for me.’ I’m not sure why he turned Northern, but I feel an anecdote so unquestionably true proves my love of pubs is genuine.

And that is why I’m going to the pub right now, for a refreshing yard of ale without the bleeding missus going on at me. That’s a normal thing to do at 9am, right?