The Daily Mumfuck

Nazis. The scum of the earth, crawling back into the light, thinking they can get away with it. Guess what? I don’t negotiate with little fucks like that. I don’t talk to cowards who hide behind symbols and slogans. You step into my line of sight, its demon time.

When I see you raising that twisted flag, it’s not a statement—it’s a declaration of war. There are no rules of engagement in war. You think you’re strong? You think you’re untouchable? Let me tell you something: flesh is flesh is flesh is flesh. And my fists? They crave little prick N*zifuck flesh. You’re flesh. Weak. Pathetic. You raise that hand in a salute, and I’ll launch my fists like missiles at your face.

I don’t just despise Nazis—I hunt them. I seek them out. I make examples out of them. I break their bodies. When you scream, it’s music to my ears. When you beg, it’s fuel to the flame. You think you can crawl out from under your rocks and spread that again? Good- fucking- luck-. I’ll rock your shit, piece by piece, bone by bone to remind everyone exactly what happens to people like you.

So go ahead. Show yourself. Fly that flag. Make that salute. All you’re doing is painting a target on your back. And me? I don’t miss. I’ve got nothing but time, rage, and a deep understanding of what justice looks like when it’s carved into the flesh of your face.

This world doesn’t belong to little nazi pricks like you.