Tag Archives: warrior

When the Farmer Calls a Hunter

A prominent farmer wandered the local market, running into another farmer.  The other farmer said, “I’ve sighted wolves near the forest between our lands.  Be careful.  I don’t know how many there are.  They could become dangerous.”  The farmer replied, “Thank you for the information.  I will see what I can do.”

The farmer brought two sheepdogs to his farm to protect his sheep.  He believed in being prepared and could use the extra help in controlling the sheep around the pasture.  One day, the wolves attacked.  One sheepdog fought them and was wounded.  The other sheepdog, believing its life more important, ran away.  Two sheep died because of the cowardice sheepdog.

The farmer now had a new problem.  His good sheepdog was injured and there were surely more wolves.  He now only had a useless sheepdog that refused to fight, though it would still control the sheep; its spine only strong enough to bend the will of weaker animals.  The farmer had to make a new plan, since his farms guardians could not contain the evils of the woods, for the farmer knew nothing of fighting.

He contacted the local hunter, a warrior, well versed in killing.  He told the hunter he would pay him to destroy the wolves.  The hunter said, “I will use traps and take them out easily.”  The farmer said, “No.  My sheep fear traps. I fear traps. They are not humane. You must engage the wolves on my terms.  You must sign this contract.”  The hunter signed and said, “This agreement may get me injured.  If that happens, due to your instructions, you will be held responsible.”  The farmer retorted, “As long as my sheep having nothing to fear, I am fine with what may come.”

The hunter delved into the dark woods, searching for the wolf pack.  He found them in a heavily dense area; one he could not well maneuver in.  They hide within a lingering fog, gliding low to the ground.  He readied for the assault as he knew it was too late.  The wolves had the upper hand, trapping him with their numbers.  They leapt at him, causing his face to be maimed, his body torn, and his anger to rise.  His weapon fired; his blade swiftly stabbed.  He killed all of the wolves, taking their pelts as proof.  Weary and spent, he began his journey back.

When the hunter returned to the farm, he wore the wolf fur across his shoulders.  The rest were bound and wrapped above his pack.  The sheep were horrified.  The farmer rushed out to meet him, seeing the shock in his flocks’ eyes.  “Don’t scare my sheep! Why do you wear such trophies?  I will compensate you for your losses, but please hide the blood and fur,” he wailed.  The hunter stood before the farmer and replied, “Killing is not the business of sheep.”

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W.A.R.

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Greetings,

Here at Warriors Against Reintegration (W.A.R.), we pride ourselves in doing the opposite of what culture demands of us. We are warriors, and warriors don’t conform. No shit right? You would think this would be a no-brainer. We didn’t choose this path just to backtrack and be “Billy on the Block”. Transition isn’t real. It is a farce of bubblegum ideology from hippie-dippie socialist. Don’t fall into that punji trap. Join the W.A.R. movement, and keep being awesome.

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Have you ever gone to a bar and had some dip shit give you the googlie eye because you have a t-shirt that has your branch of service on it? They should if you wear a bunch of moto trash, like custom made Nike’s with airbrushed HOOAH on the sides or some mess. No, you are the casual veteran that likes to rep a tee every now and then. You leave your shield at the door. Why do we not have shield racks? I will tell you why: a bunch of self-righteous hippies think shields are the devil, so they would rather have bicycle racks for their gender-confused friends and space for the mobility scooters of the impossibly obese. Have that hipster hold your axe the next time you order a beer. Hopefully his sissy arms won’t break under the weight of an 8 pound household item.

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That’s right, we are bringing sissy back like it’s 1995. The populace at large doesn’t know diddly about us, nor do they actually care to take the time to learn. Don’t you stand there and lie to me saying you genuinely care and support the troops. That was a magnet your ass bought from Walmart. Half of the civilian population would think the Department of Defense is the governing body of Mixed Martial Arts if you told them. Saving some cross-eyed toads in a third world country on the other side of the planet is more important than actually knowing about the people around in any general sense. Isn’t that right hippies? That old man down the street is just some jerk, because he tells you to slow down when you blast through in your 84 Honda. Never mind that he has shrapnel in his spine and still holds a day job.

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We aren’t going to let a bunch of limp-wristed-jack-wagons tell us to be something we are not. Why you ask? Because we don’t care what a bunch of Nancy Boys feel like because they live at home with their parents and rage on Call of Duty. The shit show of college bound, pseudo intellectuals continues to divide our nation in an attempt to gain one more participation trophy by gargling man parts. We don’t do participation trophies homie (except for the Army…that damn participation ribbon-you know which one). What we give out is earned, and usually by some unfortunate turn of painful events that often leave lifelong scaring and mental anguish. You better get you some scaring and mental anguish if you want street cred in this establishment. Getting stabbed with a fork from your cousin Dante doesn’t count. Neither does getting bit by your aunts’ vicious Chihuahua; even if it was on your eyeball. Should have stayed out of the little fuckers’ face.

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Only warriors need apply. Sword-carrying, gun-slinging, angry, men and women need to tell those sissy, hipster do-nothings to go suck start a Harley. We will not retract, retreat, or reintegrate. It is time we rise. We are W.A.R., and we are truly legion. Eat shit comic books; we’ve got this.

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P.S. Hillary Clinton is a traitor worse than Jane Fonda. When did it become popular to get people killed and make a career on camera afterwards? I will tell you when: hippies. Hippies are the root to the cancerous core that spawned hipsters and frappuccinos. They also ruined Batman with Ben Affleck’s dumb ass. Call your congressman. Do something to stem the tide of idiocy today, but mainly find that one ass-hat that hasn’t arrested Hillary Clinton yet. What the hell is this person waiting for? Get your shit together Trey Gowdy, quit tiptoeing. Tell that security detail to bust out the handcuffs and lay the smack down on that traitorous clown.

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Thank you.

Warriors Against Reintegration (W.A.R.)

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