Following logic of earlier surmise, when a system fails its citizens, there follows an urge in the citizenry to take charge in correcting that dire situation. Since the reigning progressive government is at present wanting to have its cake and eating it too, and at the expense of those who wish to keep some of their own cake for themselves, resistance would only be natural on the part of those who wish to eat their own cake as they have acquired it.

For an example of greedy cake eaters, that is, those making up a fascist enterprise of globe-loving dot.commie government working hand in pocket with corporators, take a trip to Singapore. The taxi ride from Changi Airport into the city offers a refreshing view of multiple settlements of foreign corporations nested along the way. Looming out of lush jungle scenery loom sign insignias of manufacture and assembly plants— Sony, Raytheon, etc.— whose products bear the label: “assembled in Malaysia.” Payment for labor on those products is much less in rupees. But, thinks the globalist corporator, along with his legislative pals, if one could have the workers placed in these borders, so much more cake for us here— and automatic votes to boot!

[As a matter of historical accuracy, the queen who remarked, “Let them eat cake,” was misquoted, or rather mis-translated. When Marie Antoinette was told the people had no bread, she actually said, “If only they had cake.” But the comparison with the queen is still valid in today’s context of phony moans when one hears the wailing chorus for the suffering masses who absolutely need to cross over for more cake. Sounds like Marie Antoinette got her own podcast.]

So one needn’t be astonished at the numbers wandering over an open border and bakeries beyond with the desire to eat some one else’s slice. Therefore, when this cake situation is no longer sufferable, a logical end of cake for all would be to close the bakery door, no? But how?

How do people preserve their cake supply? Well, there was a wall. Many were displeased with the wall. At the first debate for the current presidency every democrat candidate— save one no longer of their party— promised opening the border on day one. The task fell to their selected champion who did duly open the bakery door wide and declared, let them eat cake— except the maggots! Apparently, the chosen leader got the notion that those wanting to keep hold of their cake were some kind of maggots.

Following the logic of earlier surmise, when a people are told to suffer the insufferable, resistance is most expected. Rebellious proposals have flowed forth. Here is one: an enlistment of volunteers, much as the Minute Men.

Only this force would be called, not to arms, but to tools. These members would comprise an elite corps of builders, armed with tools and equipment in a force large enough to finish construction of a wall. These would be construction men with sinew and purpose and ample testosterone, allied to erect, panel by panel, a wall to be proud of. Like revolutionaries of old, grouped with a purpose of defense, followed by a cohort of artisans imbued with the finishing glory for creating a wall of pride and beauty.

Rather than cartridge belts and rifles, these troops would be outfitted with hammers, drills, and tool belts, regiments armed with the means of constructing something of a wall of magnificent permanence. The call to these working arms would echo those of Ethan Allen’s Green Mountain Boys and Patrick Henry’s stirring resolve to give me liberty or give me death. This would instead be a call to give us hammers and saws to spike in American soil a solid defense against invasion.

Even conceivable would be the gentle Amish stirred to resolve as they do erecting a barn in stirring fellowship, pitching a line of beams with the simplest of tools. And there it would be by sunset, a panel of resistance against all foes of walls, all pretenders of necessity.

There was once a poet who wrote “something there is that doesn’t love a wall,” but he is silent now. And the wall Robert Frost wrote of was a friendly wall between respectful neighbors. No Venezuelans were mentioned. None of the new and more foreboding presence now invading a freedom-loving nation abated by cake suckers.

So a love of walls is growing. The call to tools is valid. To hammers and drills and screws specifically of American manufacture, unlike the foreign imports with cheesy heads that twist off at the slightest turning. An army of pickups stand at the ready in every driveway. A host of cutters, welders and grinders lie waiting in shops. Sherman was ready at Atlanta, Eisenhower at Normandy. All is waiting for another to lead the charge with loads of materials and a surveyor’s rod. Onward countryman, the will is there to save the cake of our own baking!

A beautiful wall, more beautiful than you can imagine, is waiting to be built— but wait! On second thought, no need to grab your tool belt. Relax, you can still stay home and catch the game. All that’s required is a vote. A pledge for one who’s already led that very same charge. One who’s already demonstrated with some united workers construction skill in building some very tall buildings.