God’s Dead, and We’re All Just Monkeys: A Darwinian Middle Finger to the Far-Right

I’m standing here in the festering asshole of the country, watching a pack of zealots scream about their sky-daddy while a line of desperate immigrants stretches a mile long outside the utopian walls of this so-called “paradise.” Religion, religion, religion—it’s the same tired crutch, isn’t it? Every time we try to claw our way out of the shit, some jackoff in a pointy hat starts howling about salvation, and the whole rotting mess collapses into a pissing contest over whose imaginary friend has the bigger dick. I’m done with it. Let’s burn that fairy tale to the ground and talk about something real: Darwinism. Cold, hard evolution. No Adam, no Eve, no talking fucking snake.

Here’s the deal, you mouth-breathing troglodytes: we’re all just hairless apes who crawled out of the same primordial slime pit. You, me, the immigrant family begging for a scrap of hope at the gate, the far-right dipshit waving a flag like it’s a security blanket—we’re all the same. Strip away the skin, and it’s just monkey meat, baby. No chosen people. No divine right. No “us versus them.” Just a bunch of primates who figured out how to make sharper sticks. That’s the truth, and it’s the kind of truth that makes the far-right shit their pressed khakis so hard they’ll need a new wardrobe.

See, those fascist clowns thrive on division. They need you to believe your blood’s purer, your god’s meaner, your patch of dirt’s holier than the next guy’s. It’s all they’ve got. Take that away, and what are they? Nothing. Just a pack of scared little pricks clutching their tiki torches, screaming about superiority they can’t prove because their whole worldview’s built on quicksand. Evolution doesn’t give a single, solitary fuck about your borders, your heritage, or your precious myths. It says we’re all cousins—yeah, even the ones you don’t like. Deal with it.

I can hear the far-right now, choking on their own bile, their tiny brains short-circuiting as they try to square their “master race” bullshit with the fact that their great-great-granddaddy was a monkey humping another monkey in a swamp. They’ve got nothing left to sell without their gods and their flags. Just fear. And fear’s a lousy product when the truth is this clear: we’re all in this together, whether you like it or not.

So here’s my advice, you sanctimonious bastards: put down the holy book, stop jerking off to your national anthem, and take a good, hard look at the people you’re trying to keep out. They’re you. Same DNA, same monkey roots, same desperate need to survive. Maybe if you stopped worshipping your imaginary friends and started acting like a goddamn human being, we’d all have a shot at something better than this walled-off hellhole. Until then, I’ll be here, watching your whole rotten system eat itself alive. And I’ll be laughing.

Spider Thompson, signing off—because I need a drink and a fight, in that order.