We the People vs. the Sheeple

A complex love/hate relationship

Despite my self-evident cynicism and my reflexive skepticism, I am basically a trusting soul. Even though I know how corrupt and unreliable so many people are, still I instinctually give them the benefit of the doubt. Until proven otherwise, I assume most people aren’t dishonest, and take them at face value.

This kind of delicate balancing act is how I manage to issue blanket condemnations of the “Sheeple,” while still being concerned about the welfare, and the rights of The People, which includes those who are oblivious to the criminal tyranny all around them. It’s not easy being a populist, of promoting power to The People, when so many of them are brainwashed enough to lash out at messengers like me, who are simply trying to defend their civil liberties. Who knows how many of them would support throwing people like me into the FEMA camps, for pointing out how badly they’re being screwed? They’ve been conditioned to act like Pavlovian dogs, waiting for the bell to ring.

The odd thing about the Sheeple, who constitute a clear majority in decaying America 2.0, is that most of them are skeptical of salesmen, or salespersons, for example. Salestranspersons. They blanch at anything that seems “too good to be true.” They hate “get rich quick schemes.” Even if they were offered a perfectly legitimate check, for a substantial amount of money, without any contract to sign that roped them into something nefarious, they would still regurgitate the adage, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” The Sheeple really, really hate “free lunches,” even when they’re doing the eating. I thoroughly documented how there are “free lunches” in this rigged economy, in my book Survival of the Richest. But “free lunches” are only for the elite.

I understand this mindset to some degree. I hang up immediately on cold callers. Now that most of them are obviously from India, and are assigned ridiculously inappropriate ‘Murrican names, I sometimes respond with a snappy, “Not interested. And your name is not Kyle!” But the poor beggars at stoplights often get a few bucks from me. However, the Sheeple mentality is to suspect that these pathetic individuals have a devious, ulterior motive. I’ve seen them standing at the lights in really cold weather, or during a heavy rain. That’s a lot of trouble to go to for a dollar here or there. Doesn’t just standing there in inclimate weather indicate some kind of industriousness? I don’t consider that laziness.

But while the Sheeple are skeptical of those identifying as salespersons, and seemingly homeless people asking for a handout, they are shockingly accepting of the institutions that have failed almost all of them. You know, the ones that constructed a marketplace that ensures over 70 percent of them live from paycheck to paycheck. That permits about the same percentage to save less than $1000 for emergencies. A system that has turned the bottom half of the country into the biggest underclass the world has ever seen, with only a collective one percent of the total wealth in their portfolios. Well, to be totally accurate, actually less than one percent.

The Sheeple may question an individual insurance salesman, but they don’t question the insurance industry itself. I went over just how disastrous insurance is for almost all of us, in Survival of the Richest. If you have life insurance, the only way to “win” is to die as soon as you can. You must have auto insurance, for the “privilege” of driving. The Sheeple love to remind you of that. “Driving is a privilege, not a right,” they’ll babble confidently. Just make your payments on time, and you’ll be fine. But if you get in an accident every thirty years or so, your rates will go up, even if you weren’t at fault. Or you might even have your policy cancelled. So insurance is essentially a racket where money is extorted for things that might happen, but if they do happen, you’ll be in trouble. Again, unless you die. Then you win.

The Sheeple don’t understand any of the real rackets. The schemes that all the fake homeless people in the world couldn’t dream up. Medicare, for instance. I think I’m the only person in the world to be pointing out just what a bad deal Medicare is. Let’s see, you pay into this system your entire adult working life. When you receive this fantastic “benefit” after retiring, you are still required to pay a monthly fee. I think it’s more than $150 now. And your fantastic “benefit” only covers 80 percent of your “healthcare” costs. When I was a strapping lad way back in the halcyon days of America 1.0, that was the crappiest plan a worker could get. For years, 100 percent of my “healthcare” costs were covered under my employee plan. 20 percent of any medical cost can cause financial ruin. And Bernie Sanders wants “Medicare for all.”

Many Republicucks, of course, don’t want any Medicare at all. They don’t want any social safely net. It’s communistic. As Rush Limbaugh stated, before he died of cancer- the scourge that was introduced into the world a little over a hundred years ago, and could be “cured” the same way it was introduced- “healthcare” is not a right. It’s a privilege. Just like driving. You buy the “healthcare” that the rigged marketplace allows you to afford. Don’t live beyond your means. If you must die of cancer, do it and be quiet about it. Why should taxpayers have to pay for all your “wrong choices?” It’s not like taxpayers are paying a lot more for the despicable intelligence agencies, for instance, whose budgets remain top secret, a slew of other unconstitutional agencies, and for roads and power grids that remain unrepaired.

While most Americans seem to have lost their sense of empathy, the Sheeple are in their own category in this regard. They’re the ones who drove around with bumper stickers like “Shit happens and then you die” and “He who dies with the most toys wins.” As far back as the mid-1970s, they used to utter the charming “Sounds like a personal problem to me,” when some rabble-rouser like me would question something. Not all that long ago, during the early days of America 2.0, a bunch of Sheeple mobbing it up on Black Friday paid no attention to a man who had dropped dead in an aisle at Target. Couldn’t even call 911. Cleanup on aisle seven! Who else but Sheeple would venture out on Black Friday? For great imaginary “deals.”

The Sheeple are the ones who take out their rage on the roadways. Now, sometimes they do tailgate, and speed, but at least from my experience, they are control freaks that want to frustrate other drivers. Maybe I’m just unlucky, but literally every driver I get behind goes too slow. The only speeders are always behind me. Ironclad rule of the road- slow in front, fast behind. They are the ones who hesitate for ten seconds at a thirty second green light. And almost none of the Sheeple behind them will hit their horns. If they do, they risk an aggressive Sheeple- who surely won’t be aggressive about the loss of freedom- jumping out of his car and confronting them. How dare you remind me I wasn’t paying attention! You want me to call the cops? And it’s true, the police will always side with the Sheeple, because almost all of them are Sheeple.

The Sheeple support the endless wars, and probably are the vast majority of volunteer soldiers. The fact that some of them are wounded or die in these wars doesn’t deter their families from supporting the next unconstitutional and unnecessary foreign intervention. They sometimes receive medals posthumously, and flag-draped coffins never go out of style. While this works with Sheeple, others like my friend Cindy Sheehan, or the family of former NFL player Pat Tillman, can’t be assuaged so easily. Nobody who dies in these banker wars is a hero. One of the greatest antiwar voices of the twentieth century, JFK’s father Joe Kennedy, Sr., once asked parents to give a single good reason why their children should die in any war.

We’re kind of at war here ourselves, with the Sheeple. It’s them we must persuade and convert, if we’re ever to have enough of a majority to overthrow the yoke of tyrannical leadership. The Sheeple are the ones who serve on the juries that send citizens to prison for life without parole, on the basis of dubious, often retracted witness testimony. They understand “reasonable doubt” about as well as they understand the Bill of Rights. But they are also perfectly capable of acquitting defendants when the evidence seems stacked against them. They are especially effective at this when they are holding the fate of one of those incredibly rare wealthy defendants, and/or some kind of typically laughable America 2.0 celebrity, in their hands.

The Sheeple are the ones who vote the worst people on earth, our political “representatives,” back into office every election. At an average rate of some 96 percent. This is a lower level of turnover than existed in the Politburo at the height of the Soviet Union. So it’s something for the Sheeple to be proud about. That assumes, of course, that they are counting the votes honestly, or even counting them at all. But the Sheeple don’t believe in the possibility of electoral fraud. The homeless begging? Sure, that’s fraud. But our beloved leaders would never construct a system whereby it would be impossible to fire them by voting them out. While insisting that you have the power. Every vote counts! Just make sure you vote for the incumbent.

The Sheeple were at their worst during the Plandemic, the Greatest Psyop in the History of the World. Read all about it in my own Masking the Truth: How COVID-19 Destroyed Civil Liberties and Shut Down the World, the most shadow banned book in the world. Try to rate or review it on Amazon. Maybe they’ll let you. Many have told me their reviews were never put up. The Sheeple have never been more Sheeple-like than they’ve been since early 2020. Wearing their ridiculous masks everywhere, even when driving alone in their cars. Elbow bumping instead of shaking hands. No hugs or kisses. No farewells to grandma and grandpa. Mindlessly accepting the jab. Not protesting when kids suddenly start having heart attacks. Absolute obedience.

The Sheeple are the ones who adorn their vacuous social media pages with virtue signaling about being vaccinated, and Deep State propaganda like “I Stand With Ukraine.” Sure, they’ll brag endlessly about the amazing accomplishments of their children, or thought-provoking photos of their cats, but they’ll wear pink during Breast Cancer Awareness Month. And not ban an eye as women continue to die from it, despite all the “progress” made from the billions which have been raised. And they tear up at the endless St. Jude’s TV commercials, where half the time they reveal that the poor child in question has already died. But give us more money, because we’re doing wonders. I tear up too, when watching them, but for different reasons.

The Sheeple are the ones who create inane fads and trends. This goes back centuries, as was documented in the still interesting book Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds. Those identifying as female Sheeple are particularly good at this sort of thing. Wildly overpriced gourmet cupcakes come to mind. Past examples include the Mullet haircut. Or really “big hair” in general. That just didn’t age well. Bell bottom pants. And now, jeans with holes ready made in the knees. I had lot of pants that wound up like that. Who knew? If I could find them, I could be on the cutting edge. A logical extension of this would be socks with ready made holes in them. Now, everyone has a nice collection of those. How about shirts with ready made stains? The wrong people are already wearing pants that reveal their ass cracks. So many possibilities.

So the Sheeple are always enthusiastic, when it comes to popular trends. Which are dictated, of course, by the same corrupt authorities they inexplicably trust. Many of these trends nowadays come from some of the least educated minds out there, in the glamorized “‘hood.” Pants worn hanging down below the waist. Baseball cap worn sideways. But the Sheeple faithfully follow, even to the point of culturally appropriating the pidgin English of the ghetto. Don’t ‘dis me! She’s a ho! My bad. What up? The supposedly most intelligent among us, those with the twice the IQs of those they emulate, throw up their hands and celebrate improper grammar as “Ebonics,” as if were Latin. They are “educated” Sheeple. They good.

When you talk to an average Sheeple about the “magic” bullet in the JFK assassination, or the collapse of Building 7 on 9/11, their misguided Spidey Sense gets activated. Uh, oh, sounds like one of those “conspiracy theories” the pure hearted, not overpaid, “investigative” journalists on television warn us about. They know “disinformation” when they hear it. They’re ready to call the “If you see something, say something” hot line, if it still existed. Of course, Alex Jones called it on air and found they never answered. It’s a psyop thing, you wouldn’t understand. They fear “Hamas,” or “Isis,” or whatever the momentary “terrorist” de jure is being labeled. But not no-knock SWAT team raids from our own law enforcement. Unless it happens to them, of course. Which it never will. What do you care, if you got nothing to hide?

I sometimes wonder what the ratio of People to Sheeple was at the time of the War for Independence. Or during the Civil War. Surely, there were plenty of them even then. But our Founders certainly couldn’t have started out the Constitution with “We the Sheeple.” That would have been offensive. I mean really offensive, not “I need a safe space with my support animal” kind of “offensive.” I think the Founders spoke of an ideal “People,” one that would value and cherish their own liberty. Certainly today, there are more people (well, Sheeple) that don’t value their own liberty than do. After all, they’ve heard that such things “threaten democracy.” Like protesting the results of an election. Or questioning something about a widely reported event.

I am so grateful for the many people who contact me, every day, and say kind things about my work. Who all do value their human liberty, and furthermore care deeply about the woeful future we are ensuring for our grandchildren. Our children are already living it. They know the bleak reality of very few opportunities. Of only a fraction of jobs that pay enough to live independently, let alone build the middle-class lifestyle their parents enjoyed. Of dating apps, and potential lawsuits over an “inappropriate” touch or even remark. Of Bidenonmics, which have left many of them relegated to taking Uber to their lowly paid job. A job that doesn’t pay them enough to buy their own vehicle, and pump their own wildly overpriced gasoline.

I wonder what Huey Long thought in private about The People. He was the last public official to do anything of substance for them, after all. Maybe they weren’t as dumbed down then, even in Louisiana, where until he came to power, they were woefully uneducated. When I mention sharing the wealth, which was Huey’s signature issue, to people, they recoil like frightened animals, and hiss (well, it kind of sounds like a hiss), “that’s just class envy!” I think about 80 percent of Americans should be envious of people that “earn” as much with one tax-free “performance” bonus as they will be paid for working centuries at their pathetic salaries. 80 percent of Americans must lose, like in the casinos, so that 20 percent can continue to win.

The reason I love watching Frank Capra films is because they always reinvigorate my populist impulses. My latent idealism. My perhaps naive belief that even the Sheeple can be moved and inspired to open their minds. To see that the emperor is stark naked. That’s why I still love the secular holiday season. Charles Dickens, in the greatest single story from English literature in my view, showed that there is hope for even the most hopeless of us. If the Ebenezer Scrooges of the world can be redeemed, like Saul on the road to Damascus, why not the most obstinate Sheeple in America 2.0? Imagine all the happiness and generosity we see during the holidays becoming the norm. The “new normal,” if you will. But now I sound like a Hallmark card.

When I’m watching It’s a Wonderful Life for the billionth time, I don’t see Sheeple. I see We the People. I’m as full of perhaps irrational optimism as I used be when getting roaring drunk back in the wild, wild days of the late 1970s-1980s. Dancing with a figurative lampshade on my head. Throwing my arms around everyone and planning impossible things, which would make the world a much better place. Now I never get drunk. Maybe I should start drinking again. I was a great drunk. Never tried to start trouble. People loved being around me. Considering how outgoing and talkative I am sober, it is hard for those who know me now, but didn’t then, to picture me being even more personable, but alcohol had that effect on me.

I have a quixotic relationship with The People. And it’s because of all the problems the Sheeple cause. One can legitimately say that the Sheeple cause all the problems. Because of their unbreakable trust in the powerful villains who conspire against the public, including them, as a means of doing business. Because of their willingness to swallow the most foul-tasting propaganda imaginable, from false flags to social distancing. Because of their inability to judge character or motive, when it involves anything of true significance. Maybe I’ve developed a new kind of Stockholm Syndrome. A new variant, to use their own language.

I know they’re sound asleep. I’ve tried unsuccessfully to wake enough of them up over the years. I know they’d be ungrateful, even if were possible to help them. I know they’d call the authorities on me in a heartbeat if they were offered the most modest reward for reporting Thought Criminals. They’ll talk behind your back, be unfaithful, be unappreciative, cause you pain, yet maintain the ability to see themselves as being victimized. Looked at logically, The People aren’t worth caring about, because so many of them are Sheeple. But loving thine enemy as thyself obviously includes loving Sheeple. Power corrupts, and always should be decentralized. Even if those who benefit from it aren’t worth it. I can’t help it. I was born a populist.