A Tale of Liberty: My Life in the Freedom Paradise of Florida

Andrew Anglin September 18, 2021

Earlier this year, I moved from Lagos, Nigeria to Tampa, Florida, in order to bask in the freedoms offered by Governor Ron DeSantis.

I love freedom more than anything. It does get exhausting sometimes, but I wouldn’t give my freedom for anything. The libtards are taking all our freedoms, and the only place where we can still be Americans is in Florida.

For those of you who live in more restrictive states, with tighter covid measures, let me just describe my day on Friday, just to give you an idea what it’s like to have pure freedom in the age of covid.

My alarm went off at 6AM as it always does, but I couldn’t hear it because my girlfriend was laying on top of it on the ground. I thought “that’s weird,” and walked over, and poked her with a stick. Dead. Covid 19. She was unvaccinated because of a meme she saw on TikTok from QAnon that said the vaccine contains magnetic microchips which will allow George Soros to control people’s brains using 5G.

I tried to call DeSantis’ mobile morgue service but all lines were busy. It took me three hours to get through, and the operator told me the mobile morgues are so backed up that they wouldn’t be able to come pick her up until the following Wednesday.

“We just don’t have the manpower because DeSantis won’t let us hire illegal immigrants because he hates the color of their skin,” the operator said.

“Well, what am I supposed to do with her corpse until then?”, I asked with exasperation.

The operator told me that I could chop her up and put her in the freezer, or put her on ice in the bathtub, but that I would need to replace the ice daily. She said I would likely have a hard time finding that much ice, as there is an ice shortage due to so many people keeping their corpses on ice.

“It’s also harder to store ice now because of global warming,” she added. “But Governor DeSantis says that global warming isn’t real, and if it is real, the cities being flooded with water will help us dispose of all these corpses.”

“Yeah, if Tampa floods, these bodies can just wash away into the ocean,” I said.

“That’s what the governor thinks. And besides, it says in the Constitution that we can eat as many burgers as we want, and I’m not eating any of pedophile Joe’s bug burgers,” the operator explained.

“Neither am I,” I agreed.

I hung up and decided to throw my girlfriend’s corpse out the window. I live on the 12th floor of my condo building, and I expected to hear a crunchy splat, but heard only a dull thump as my girlfriend’s body slapped against the pile of corpses. Others in the building had apparently had the same idea I had.

After a quick shower, I got dressed, put on my mask, and headed out into the hallway. As is the case every morning, the hallway was filled with corpses of people who had died the night before because they weren’t wearing their masks.

I was able to sidestep the bodies about half of the way down the hall, then they reached a bottleneck. There was a huge pile of bodies, victims of the coronavirus. Most of them were schoolchildren who died because of DeSantis’ law that says they can’t wear masks. There was a small space between the corpse pile and the ceiling, and I was able to climb over.

However, when I got to the elevator and pushed the button, I heard the motor grind and then fizzle out. I realized that people on every floor had pried open the doors and thrown covid-19 corpses into the elevator shaft.

I headed for the stairs, but the door to the stairs was completely covered with corpses. For a moment, I thought I would just turn around and go back to my room, and wait for the mobile morgues to come clean the place up.

Just then I heard a voice say, “over here!”

A man was climbing out the window. I said “man, don’t do it!” assuming he was committing suicide. But in fact, he was simply climbing out onto a pile of corpses that reached up to the 12th floor, and could easily be climbed down to reach the street.

As I climbed down the pile with the man, he said, “these corpses can be a hassle, but it’s a small price to pay for the freedoms of our Constitution.” I nodded in agreement.

He went on: “the real problem is that millennials are too lazy to take the jobs at the governor’s mobile morgue service. The mobile morgues are completely understaffed. Millennials are all communists and would rather sit at home and masturbate to video games than work for $8 an hour cleaning up these corpses.”

We were about halfway to the street when I really started to feel sweaty in the Florida sun, and the mask was sticking to my face, so I briefly pulled it down to catch a breath of fresh air. After I pulled it down and let my nose out, I heard a choking sound and looked over at my companion. He was struggling to breathe. I pulled my mask back up, but it was too late – covid had already gotten him.

His last words were: “hkkk, ukkk, ekkk – I should have gotten the vaccine!” Then he collapsed and rolled like a log down the corpse pile. I continued my trek alone.

When I reached the street, it was clear that there was no way I was going to make it into the garage to get my truck, as the entire entrance was sealed shut with bodies of covid victims.

It was only a half-mile walk to the Mexican restaurant where I was supposed to be meeting John Carpenter to discuss some editing work he’d agreed to do for Hoax Watch. Because the mobile morgue service is understaffed, Governor DeSantis has hired bulldozing crews to clear the corpses from the road, and pile them up on the sidewalks.

This frees up the roads. The problem is that drivers often take their masks off and die from covid 19 while behind the wheel, and this causes accidents.

As I was walking, two cars driven by maskless drivers collided into each other, as both had died because they took their masks off in public. Lucky for me, the cars exploded with such force that they pushed some of the bodies on the sidewalk out of the way, making it easy for me to continue my walk.

As I got closer to the Mexican restaurant, I saw the mobile morgues doing their thing. DeSantis’ mobile morgues are based on a design Adolf Hitler created during the Holocaust; the vehicle is a large truck with a scooper arm that picks up corpses and dumps them into the body of the truck, which is a mobile incinerator.

Along with the scooper, a group of men were picking up corpses off the road by hand and throwing them into the incinerator.

I waved to the team and they gave me a salute.

“This is the price of freedom,” I said.

“God bless our Constitution,” the mobile morgue commander replied.

The man was big and burly, with a lumberjack beard, and wearing a t-shirt with a Punisher logo with the colors of the American flag. The shirt read: “Trump 2024: Fuck You.” He must have noticed my shirt; it also had the Punisher logo inside of the letter “Q” and read: “WWG1WGA.” He was carrying a stack of children’s corpses, and tossed them all at once into the incinerator, then came over towards me. As he walked, he stepped on a dead child and its head popped like a melon, and gore splashed up his leg. The man paid it no mind.

The man was maskless. As he approached he said, “don’t worry – I have natural immunity.”

He looked from side to side, as if to see if anyone was listening in, and then said: “Not many people know it, brother, but Trump is still operating as the Shadow President. He’s using a body double that goes out and plays golf, while the real Trump is working with the Space Force, which has remained loyal to him, to map the pedophile tunnels used by Pizzagate. Pedophile Joe is too senile to catch on. The tunnels are linked to Walmarts across the country, and they use them to run their kidnapped children for their rituals. But the Space Force is using ground-penetrating radars to map them.”

I nodded.

“Trump will be reinstalled soon, when the audits show that the Chinese hacked the Dominion machines. The Supreme Court will rule he has to be president again. Then, he will send the white hats from the FBI to every Walmart in the country, and open up the tunnels and free the children. After that, he will mandate Ivermectin as the cure for covid, and the pandemic will be over.

“From my research, I’ve also found that Trump is planning to make Mike Lindell his vice president.”

I went to fist-bump him, but he reached in and hugged me, saying “don’t worry about covid, brother. It’s a hoax.”

The interaction made me feel much better, to the point where I’d completely forgotten about my dead girlfriend.

When I finally reached the Mexican restaurant, I had to climb over a pile of corpses to get inside. John Carpenter was sitting alone, surrounded by the corpses of Mexicans. He wasn’t wearing a mask, so he’d killed the entire staff with covid 19.

“I don’t have to wear a mask because I have natural immunity,” Carpenter told me. “Apparently, these border-hoppers don’t have it.”

I noted that all of the waiters were wearing “I’ve been vaxed” stickers. But of course, because John wasn’t vaccinated, their vaccines stopped working.

I nodded solemnly, and asked if he’d already ordered.

“Of course I’ve already ordered. You’re 20 minutes late and I was hungry,” he said, stroking his mustache. “But I think the entire kitchen staff is dead. When the waiters’ vaccines stopped working because I’m not vaccinated, the vaccinated waiters were then able to transmit the Delta variant to the vaccinated cooking team. One unvaxed person creates a chain reaction. If a vaccinated person gets infected by an unvaccinated person, they are even more likely to spread the virus to other vaccinated people.”

I nodded, saying, “yes, I understand the science.”

“But it’s my freedom not to get vaxed. That’s in the Constitution. Plus, I saw a meme on Facebook that the vaccines have magnetic particles in them that makes it so they can control your mind with 5G.”

I readjusted my mask, knowing that if my nose were to slip out, I too would fall down dead from Delta.

“I have natural immunity, so I don’t need a mask or a vaccine,” he repeated. “We have to defend the Constitution from Bill Gates and the World Economic Forum. They’re trying to do a Great Reset, which is pure communism. I even saw a meme that showed that Klaus Schwab is directly involved in Pizzagate.”

“But how are we going to eat, if the entire staff is dead?”

“Do you know how to roll a burrito?” Carpenter asked me, twirling his mustache once again.

I shook my head.

“That’s pathetic. Well, the good news is, I do know how to roll a burrito.”

Carpenter then climbed over the corpses and made his way to the kitchen. Twenty minutes later, he returned with an amazing tray full of burritos.

Following official protocol, I pulled down my mask, took a bite of the burrito, then pulled it back up while I chewed. One time I forgot, and started chewing with my mask still down, and started to die of covid. Thankfully, I was able to pull the mask up quick enough that I survived.

As we ate, a mobile morgue team showed up, and began cleaning out the corpses from the restaurant, and throwing them in the incinerator truck.

“This is the quickest I’ve ever seen a mobile morgue team move,” I mused.

“That’s because I’ve got connections in the governor’s office,” Carpenter said, winking at me and twirling his mustache. “Ghosts of Mars is Ron DeSantis’ favorite film, and he regularly calls me into the governor’s mansion to explain different parts of it to him.”

Carpenter’s connections to the governor would make him an even more useful editor, I thought.

“Well, I think you’ve got yourself a job, Mr. Carpenter.”

“Please,” he said, winking with both eyes, back and forth, “call me Steve.”

“Steve?” I asked. “But your name’s John?”

“Ah, yes. That’s a good point. Call me John.”

I realized then that although Carpenter had natural immunity from surviving covid, he also has brain damage from long covid. Of course, there’s nothing I can do about that. Covid is causing a dementia pandemic among the survivors, and I can’t hire the dead.

So, I thought: Carpenter will have to do as the new editor at Hoax Watch.

Even after what he told me next.

“You know, I slept with Pam Grier on the set of Ghosts of Mars,” he said, again winking with both of his eyes and twirling his mustache. “Sheba, baby. That black mama took me straight to Bucktown. You would have thought my trailer was a Big Bird Cage, with Foxy Brown screaming like Blacula.”

Shocked, I spat out chunks of burrito into my mask. Unwilling to take it off for any reason other than taking a bite, I used my tongue to push the chunks down my chin and out the bottom of the mask.

“Why would you do that?”

“She was a beautiful woman, Anglin.”

“But I thought you hated black people?”

“There’s a little bit of love in all forms of hate, Anglin. It’s the ying and the yang. That was really the lesson I tried to get across in Ghosts of Mars, and I lived that lesson in my own life.”

***

When I got back to my apartment building, the mobile morgue team had almost completely finished clearing out the corpses. I was shocked, as I’d not expected them to come for another week.

Then I got a message on WhatsApp. It was Carpenter.

It read: “Hey, bossman – I went ahead and gave Ron a call, got your building put up at the top of the cleaning list. #WWG1WGA. See ya Monday, brother.”

Just then, I had never been more assured of the correctness of my decision to live in Florida. Despite the risks and hassles that come along with having freedom, I would rather live on my feet than die on my knees.

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