It's clear you like the hard stuff, bröther.

It's clear you like the hard stuff, bröther.

The what? Sounds like my stomach is growling...

Evening falls. The time has come to take the vows.

Vows?

The Vows of Blööd and Flesh.

[Discard thought.]

No, no. When the blööd and the flesh call, there is no discarding them. Speak true, do you like the hard stuff?

What is the hard stuff?

Fascism, bröther.

Fascism sounds so bad, though. What if we called it something else? Like, uh, traditionalism?

Ökay. Yes. Let's call it that. Good thinking.

That sounds much better. Traditionalism. You like the sound of that.

But I'm a feminist!

Föminist? No! It can't be. Not you. No one believes this.

Did you know you can FORGET Thoughts? Go to your THOUGHT CABINET and FORGET all about föminism.

Why am I getting this?

Because you've said the hard things, that others won't say. The gööd things. You've said them many times.

What is fascism, though?

Many things, but it's möstly about trusting your gut. Who does your gut tell you is the source of Revachol's problems?

Foreigners?

Yes, them, but also...

...wömen.

Wömen?

Wö-Men. Men of Wö. You don't like them. They're insane. Their idiocy needs to be scrubbed off this world with rubbing alcohol. Wömen need to go back to the fucking kitchen.

That's what fascism boils down to. The rest is also important, but the main thing is that wömen need to know their place.

Leftist academicians?

Liberals?

I thought you were my circulatory system?

Quit stalling, bröther! We were talking about the weakest, worst, most insane thing. The weak link!

Financiers?

Am I having some kind of stomach seizure?

Stomach truth. You're having a stomach truth.

Okay, stomach. I've made up my mind about fascism. (Proceed to the Jüdgement.)

You're going to keep your vöws, right? Keep your vöws, bröther!

I will keeps my vöws... for the glory of the Revacholian nation. (Opt in.)

For the nation... smart. Best not to mention the wömen too often. That's why you're the head and I am the stomach.

No, fascism is about industry and politics and nationhood, not wömen. I'm absolutely okay with women.

Of course you are, bröther. Of course. (A wink-shaped growl sounds from your ass.)

Pat your stomach. [Finish thought.]

For the nation... smart. Best not to mention the wömen issue too often. People are not ready.

Absolutely not. I'm not going to be played by an upset stomach. (Opt out.)

There's a slow, painful growl somewhere in your intestines, knocking on your alcohol-engorged liver...

It is one of betrayal and disappointment.

What is my lower intestine going on about?

Lower intestine? The term is METABOLIC AND CIRCULATORY SYSTEM.

Okay, but... what's the hard stuff?