No, no, they're serious. They want to get back to their good ole days where their very own libural brown shirts/white sheets gang could burn crosses and lynch any uppity folk who didn't toe their line. They miss those fun times and would love to turn society back to those days.
Why do you think they want to get rid of cars, trucks and other vehicles and go back to trains for travel, gardens to live from and neighbors to come by when they need to harvest? Turn everything back to Little House on the Prairie for everyone but them and they'll have reached nirvana.
Methinks you are precisely correct, Randy. The vermin like Nosense are not the run of the mill libtard zombies that make up the drooling peanut gallery Proleteriat. They are the kommisars, the Pied Pipers that lead the throng who are incapable of thinking for themselves.
One hallmark of liberalism is an eager will to impose restrictions on others while of course not being held to those limitations themselves. I think they really do long for the U.N. ideal of a worldwide agrarian serfdom with of course a privileged upper crust, same as it has been in every communist country.
The mindless glazed gaze legions can't see this though, the whole "community blah blah blah" B.S. blinding them for what it is, serfdom. Hoax & Chains.
I've got some Amish here on my road, kinda creepy really. They wave back now and then but they really don't mean it, diligently going about living in their Flintstones utopia until they can't take it anymore and go "over the fence". Usually it's a 16 or 17 year old that steals a car, gets blinding drunk and is found wrecked in a ditch somewhere in the morning asleep at the wheel wearing no pants.
The elder gents don't hold themselves to such an extreme it seems, I've run into a few out deer hunting hereabouts and more often than not they are reeking of the demon liquor. They're not hunting, they're hiding from their wives. They also keep telephones in their barns which the womenfolk aren't allowed to go near.
Ahhh, Utopia... Just plain B.S.
