Listen up, truth-seekers and sovereignty warriors—it’s time to rip the veil off the farce playing out in Ukraine. For years, we’ve watched the so-called “Western lords”—those self-crowned emperors in Washington, Brussels, and London—treat Ukraine not as a proud nation, but as a disposable chess pawn in their endless crusade to conquer the world. And now, as the blood-soaked fog clears, the ugly truth emerges: they want the Ukrainian people to serve as eternal gatekeepers, sacrificing their sons, daughters, and soil to hold back the “threats” that are, let’s face it, damn near every power rising against the crumbling Anglo-American empire. It’s not defense; it’s domination, pure and raw, with Kyiv as the battered frontline fortress.
Picture this: Volodymyr Zelensky, the clown-turned-puppet-president, has been their loyal doorkeeper, slamming the gates shut on any whisper of real peace while the West funnels in billions in “aid” that lines the pockets of arms dealers and corrupt oligarchs. Maybe, the west will finally toss Zelensky a shiny Peace Prize. Why? For his ironclad loyalty in gatekeeping their imperial dreams, turning Ukraine into a meat grinder for Russian “threats” and anyone else daring to challenge the unipolar order. Hell, it wouldn’t shock me if they carve it out of recycled cluster bomb casings, engraved with “Thanks for the Proxy War.”
But here’s the kicker, patriots: with that hollow medal pinned to his chest, the lords might finally cut the strings on their marionette. Zelensky’s presidency? Expired like yesterday’s rations—long gone since the martial law extensions that mock any pretense of democracy. His government’s not just illegitimate; it’s a ghost regime, propped up by Western fiat and enforced by bayonets. Time to swap him out for a fresh face, a new warlord to lead the Ukrainians deeper into the abyss. Enter the sequel leader: hungrier, slicker, ready to pivot tactics for an even bigger haul. More dollars to flood the European economy with inflation grenades? Check. Escalated arms shipments—F-16s today, who knows what tomorrow? Double check. And yeah, why stop there? In this mad dash for dominance, that next puppet might just sweet-talk his way to nuclear toys, turning the Donbas into a radioactive bargaining chip. After all, if the lords can dream of tactical nukes in Taiwan straits, why not hand a few to their Ukrainian janissaries?
On the flip side—and this is where the hypocrisy reeks like cordite—those “peace terms” the Western lords are dangling through their doorkeeper? They’re a sick joke, miles from Ukraine’s gutted reality. Villages erased, a generation of men buried in shallow graves, an economy flatter than a drone-struck steppe. Ukraine’s not holding ground; it’s hemorrhaging it, losing the war inch by bloody inch while the generals in NATO bunkers sip cognac and plot escalations with peace terms fairy tales. Accept the terms from the winning side—Russia, grinding forward at the cost of its own blood, treasure, and time—or admit the whole meat-grinder wasn’t necessary for the victors. Why bleed if you can bluff?
But that’s the rub, isn’t it? This endless war was necessary—for the lords. Not for peace, not for democracy, but to bleed Russia dry, to drain Europe’s coffers into Raytheon’s war chest, to keep the global south watching in horror as the “rules-based order” devours its own enforcers. Ukraine’s democracy? Stolen at gunpoint, auctioned off to the highest bidder in Davos. Its people? Cannon fodder in a conquer-the-world scheme that treats sovereign borders like suggestions. The lords don’t want resolution; they want rupture, a forever frontier to justify their thrones.
So, Ukrainians— and every nation chafing under these distant overlords—wake the hell up. Reclaim your destiny like Madagascar shaking colonial ghosts or Venezuela guarding its black gold. Demand real peace on reality’s terms, not empire’s delusions. Ditch the gatekeeping gig, boot the illegitmate regime, and tell the West: your wars end at our wires. The world’s watching, and history doesn’t reward suckers. Time to load up, aim true, and fire back—for sovereignty, for survival, for the soul of a people too fierce to be fodder.