I keep seeing these anxious posts bubbling up from the swamp of doom-scrolls, clutching their pearls about April 20th—the day, supposedly, when the Trump regime will dust off the Insurrection Act like a vintage bottle of fascism, smash it open on the table, and toast to martial law. Constitutional rights? Suspended. Civil liberties? Vaporized. America? Repackaged as a theocratic police state with a God complex and a meth addiction.

And sure, the evidence pointing in that direction? Compelling. Chilling, even. But let’s not confuse “possible” with “inevitable,” and let’s certainly not confuse “dangerous” with “invincible.” This is not some fucking Marvel movie where the villain has a flawless plan. No, this is a clown car of egomaniacal sycophants with the strategic acumen of a toddler playing Risk while hopped up on Pixy Stix. They’re busy gutting their own institutions, firing people with triple-digit IQs, and turning the Pentagon into a goddamn golf club for grifters. This is not the Death Star. It’s a flaming dumpster strapped to a roller coaster with no brakes.

Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not saying it won’t be chaos. It will be. Hell on Earth with a Wi-Fi connection. But let’s not pretend this bloated, crumbling regime has the organizational prowess or ideological unity to maintain a long-term crackdown on 330 million people, many of whom are smart, pissed-off, and crazy enough to throw sand in the gears.

But here’s the meat of it—I’m not here to play Nostradamus in a dive bar. I don’t give a damn about “predicting” what flavor of fascism they’ll try to bottle next. What I am here for is to speak directly to those of you who see the bullshit, who smell the sulfur in the air, who feel the psychic tremor of something sick pulsing beneath the surface—and are asking: What the hell can we do?

Here’s my answer: Don’t. Fucking. Comply.

You want to know what non-compliance looks like? It looks like whatever the hell you want it to look like. It’s not about heroism or martyrdom. It’s about being a magnificent, ungovernable pain in the ass. It’s about weaponizing inconvenience, absurdity, and joy against a system that demands fear and obedience.

Throw a wrench in the works—everywhere, all the time. Go limp when they try to arrest you. Laugh like a lunatic in the face of their solemn tyranny. Fill their inboxes with existential poetry or pictures of your morning post-coffee porcelain bowl masterpieces. Tape absurd messages in public places: “Authoritarianism gives you hemorrhoids.” Get petty. Get weird. Flush their toilet paper. Release crickets in inconvenient places. Spoil their scripts, trip their rhythm, yank the narrative from their hands.

Join a general strike. Practice the black cat sabotage—cut their supply chains not with violence but with broken protocol and creative disorder. Don’t show up. Don’t respond. Don’t cooperate. Don’t validate their authority with your silence. If you’re going to get arrested, make it for being a glorious bastard who refuses to play their game. Make a mockery of it.

Because here’s the ugly truth they don’t want you to hear: authoritarianism only works when the people allow it to work. It’s a performance, a bluff, a collective hypnosis. Break the spell. Break the frame. Mock it. Undermine it. Set it on fire (proverbially) with your refusal to kneel.

But here’s the thing—this has to be everywhere. Everyone. If you sit back, clutch your pearls, and hope someone else will jump first—you’re part of the problem. This isn’t Putin’s Russia (yet). We don’t need a handful of martyrs; we need a flood. A tsunami of “nope.” A wildfire of “fuck you.” We need resistance so widespread, so creatively chaotic, so utterly unmanageable, that the regime cracks under the weight of its own overreach.

History is watching. But more importantly, your children are watching. And if you let a pack of psychotic Bible-thumping oligarchs jackboot over your rights while you nervously refresh Twitter and do nothing—then don’t be surprised when the future looks back and calls you exactly what you were: a coward.

Choose better. Be bold. Be clever. Be feral.
And above all—DO NOT COMPLY.

And let me be crystal clear here: NO violence. None. Not a shred. That gives them the excuse they’re desperately craving to justify tyranny. What we need is coordinated, irritating, clever-as-hell, petty-as-fuck, infuriating noncompliance. Be a stone in their shoe. Be sand in their eyes. Be a bureaucratic migraine. Drive them nuts—but never give them the moral high ground. This is about outsmarting them, not becoming them.
Pic related—those at the top are not well oiled dictators with a grand plan. They are selfish buffoons. Potentially dangerous, but in a child with a chainsaw way.