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Oct. 20, 2025 - Lionel Nation
15:35
What's the Shocking Truth Behind the NO KINGS Movement?

What's the Shocking Truth Behind the NO KINGS Movement?

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Time Text
They Salivate, Become Frendant 00:02:43
Yes.
Behold, behold, the no kings, the no brains, the self-anointed, self-appointed intellectuals of chaos, my friends, have no focus, no apparent mission that I can figure out.
No worldview.
They have no theology, no philosophy, no consistent moral structure other than one collective, reflexive, obsessional hatred for Donald Trump.
TDS, baby.
Oh my God.
It's not even political.
It's Pavlovian.
It's wild.
They hear his name and they salivate, become frendant.
They salivate and spew webs of with rage.
I choke up thinking about this.
They're not thinkers.
Excuse me.
They're triggered, I guess, programs, automatons, programs, and running on some kind of script written by what?
Some global architect somewhere who understands nothing more than the manipulation of individuals better than they understand the rudiments of whatever it is they're fighting for.
You see, they're the chorus of a political kabuki theater, a ritualized dance of the scrum, of outrage, choreographed by consultants and NGOs and billionaire puppet masters who treat them like the wind-up toys they are with megaphones and cans of soup and black masks and ice water bottles frozen at the hurl.
This is thuggery.
This is brown-shirted stormtroopers masquerading as some kind of a cause.
They are what happens, my friends, when social media children become, I guess, believers in the scripture of the holy book of outrage that becomes their oxygen.
They don't create anything.
They perform.
They don't believe they emote.
Their ideology is the algorithm.
Their catechism is the feed.
Soros' Engineered Foolishness 00:05:10
Their theology, my dear friend, is trending hashtag.
They don't know.
They are vapid, vacuous, void, vacant.
They call themselves progressives, but nothing about them really moves forward.
Nothing is really progressive.
They are human placeholders, filling the streets with slogans and sloganeering and pamphleteers and parvenues and political penjandrums that don't really understand fighting phantoms that someone else invented for them.
They really don't know.
They don't know why they're there.
They're just here for the beer.
Their moral compass is outsourced with talking points preloaded, pre-loaded, and pre-programmed in this weird kind of an anger synthetic that they represent.
They wake up outraged for some reason because rage gives them purpose.
At least so they're told.
They march because silence terrifies them.
Being alone terrifies them.
Because when you're by yourself, you don't have the groupthink to lend allegiance to.
They chant because thinking would expose how empty they truly are.
The no brains movement, my friend, oh, it's not a movement.
It's a marketing campaign disguised as activism.
They're not rebels.
They're brand ambassadors.
And I'm being kind for some kind of globalist cabal or order that funds their fury and fees their delusion.
It's true, my friends.
George Soros and his shadow foundations have perfected this sympathy and symphony of chaos.
And by the way, USAID's back, that's right.
You thought Elon got rid of them.
Oh, no, no, no.
The money's still there.
See their handiwork?
It's global.
It's not spontaneous.
The choreography is the same in every city.
The same hand signals, the same slogans, the same signs, the same pamphlets, the same organizational signature, all printed from the same templates.
The crowd believes it's some kind of organic creation, but it's engineered.
They are the useful idiots and foot soldiers of an unelected elite class of bureaucrats and financiers who learned that the easiest way to control a population, as we're seeing, is to make them think they're fighting back.
The no-brains scream about fascism while enforcing conformity.
They rail against tyranny while at the same time demanding censorship.
They burn cities in the name of justice and then demand more government to rebuild them.
They're the circular firing squad of civilization.
Antifa is their physical manifestation.
Don't forget, by the way, Trantifa, this weird kind of a portmanteau of God knows what.
Again, all of these psychological, psychiatric beds just replicating.
This is street theater, my friend.
Street theater of violence dressed up as virtue.
And these are not revolutionaries.
They're stormtroopers, stormtroopers for the corporate left.
Funded, trained, deployed, and forgotten.
They are radical left militants in black uniforms playing at rebellion while advancing the very system they purport and claim to hate.
How about that?
And now there's Trantifa, the gender-confused militant offspring of the same ideology.
Gender-confused.
We used to call them crazy.
See, these are the people weaponized by identitarian lunacy and identity engineered to implode the notion of reality itself.
They are angry, not because they're oppressed, but because confusion is their creed.
They exist to shatter definitions so that nothing can be stable.
Nothing can be true.
When truth dies, power takes its place.
The Soros machine knows this.
The intelligence agencies know this.
The corporations pretending to be allies, they know this.
The entire spectacle, the entire spectacle is performative chaos, a synthetic rebellion that protects the ruling order by exhausting anyone who might challenge them.
And the media amplify the performance like a spotlight operator in a circus.
Every protest becomes a product.
Every scream a soundbite.
They Pretend To Document 00:08:09
And they're using video from crowds 10 years ago.
Talk about these are the same people who screamed misinformation and disinformation about COVID.
They're using the wrong crowd scenes.
And the press, if you call it that, they pretend.
Excuse me, I get all choked up when I talk about this.
I'm sorry.
Makes me crazy.
They pretend that they're documenting or reporting some kind of a revolution, but it's a PR stunt for decay or rot or something.
The anchors, these pathetic people, they play their part.
You know, the pundits recite their lines and the influencers like Bill Nye, the science guy.
Oh my God.
What is he, some D-lister?
What is he?
Bill Nye?
They just show up.
Show up for their lefty street cred.
They memorize their lines.
The influencers cue the mob and mobs dance and screaming, don't command.
It's a kabuki scrum of fake resistance.
They say, they say they're fighting authoritarianism, but they obey it.
They're proud of the numbers that they've achieved, ostensibly, depending upon which lie you believe.
But it's nothing but noise.
They call it democracy, but it's submission by consensus.
They call it justice, excuse me, but it's punishment, punishment without thought.
They call it inclusion, but it's just enforced obedience.
The result is not progress, but paralysis.
My friends, the cities are collapsing.
Schools are just falling apart and imploding.
And the streets are turning into tent colonies.
And the no-brains, no kings marchers, they still move on.
Excuse me, I'm so sorry.
Still convinced, still convinced that they're saving the world from something by destroying it.
They live for the performance, for the feeling of significance that comes from collective hysteria.
It's true.
They think their screams matter, but they're background noise in a digital experiment.
They think they're the revolution, but they're the test subjects, the test dummies, ladies and gentlemen.
The global technocrats watch from above, measuring the emotional data streams, refining the scripts, tightening the tightening the loops.
It's not politics.
It's behavioral engineering.
And they bought and built a civilization of controlled chaos.
Listen to me.
The mobs are the pressure valve.
When truth surfaces, when truth surfaces, release the outrage.
When corruption leaks, flood the streets with protest.
When elites are concerned, change the subject with another crisis.
These people don't see it.
They're proud to be pawns.
They pose selfies at riots.
They have no idea what they're doing.
They film, excuse me, destruction and they call it content.
They're addicted to dopamine and delusion.
You know, that swiping dopamine.
It's weird.
They're the dream experiment of every Tavistock and Frankfurt school architect that ever lived.
And make no mistake, this was designed, it was orchestrated.
They don't hate Trump because of policy or personality.
They hate him because he broke their trance.
They hate him because they're told to hate him.
He's the mirror that reflects their emptiness.
He represents choice in a world that trains obeisance.
He is the forbidden symbol of agency.
The no-brains, no kings, they can't forgive him by reminding, for reminding them, by the way, that freedom still exists.
And freedom and free.
They rage at him the way slaves rage at the sight of an unlocked door.
That is why every institution works in unison to keep them in the trance.
The universities teach conformity is enlightenment.
Corporations and media preach virtue while exploiting the poor that they so richly care for.
And the tech platforms shape everything to feed and to reward their outrage and bury reflection.
Every algorithm is designed to keep them pissed off and angry because anger consumes thought, keeps them busy.
The no-kings and no-brains are addicted to fury because without it, they would have to confront the void inside.
They would have to know what they're talking about.
They would have to really be able to articulate what it is that they're upset about or what they support.
What's their worldview when they can't?
They have traded meaning for movement and substance for spectacle.
They chant because silence, well, silence reveals truth.
They protest because peace exposes emptiness, my friends.
They pretend to resist, but they obey perfectly.
They are obeisant, obedient revolutionaries, fighting imaginary villains to protect their real masters.
Oh.
And they scream.
Oh, they scream about freedom while volunteering for surveillance.
They demand equality while bowing and kneeling to oligarchs.
We won't.
They're the perfect modern citizen, angry, loud, distracted, and own lockstock and barrel.
And yet, all is not lost.
Awareness is the one virus the system cannot contain.
Listen, the moment you see the choreography, you can't unsee it.
The moment you stop reacting, you start resisting.
Awareness breaks hypnosis.
The only way to defeat the mob is to refuse to join it.
Do not repeat their slogans.
Do not share their hysteria.
Do not feed the algorithm with your own outrage.
The real rebellion is stillness.
The real revolution is thought.
If you want to fight back, start with yourself.
Guard your attention like gold.
Question every command, every command that begins with experts say or sources confirm.
Every one of these phrases is a leash.
It's a collar, a yoke.
Cut it.
Take one act of autonomy every day.
Refuse to participate in the theater.
Do not perform.
Create.
Build.
Speak truth in your own words.
When they tell you to comply, smile and think instead.
When they demand conformity, answer with clarity.
You can do it.
And when they say, follow the crowd, take another road.
Every quiet refusal is a blow to the machinery.
Listen to me.
Every independent thought is an act of war.
The no-kings, no brains folks, they can't survive awareness because their power to defend depends on a collective blindness, admissions, and ignorance.
They're not strong.
They're loud.
They're not united.
They're synchronized, choreographed.
They have no depth, only volume.
The illusion ends the moment you stop clapping.
That's the truth system and what they fear.
The mob doesn't want you to think.
So think.
That's your weapon.
That's a rebellion.
Think.
That is your victory.
Research.
Own the news.
Find your own news.
Do not wait for people to tell you what to think.
Think on your own.
Be in control of your own destiny.
You can do this and we can do this together.
Don't give up.
This is far from over.
Oh, no, no, no.
Don't let them think for a moment that they've won because they are not even close.
You dig?
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