Final Enclosure

Theft of Boomer Wealth and the Forced Collapse of the English Civilization

Listen up, you half-asleep bastards. The last pile of wealth we English-speaking suckers have left—the Boomer stash, all those pensions and houses and scraps of dignity—is getting fenced off right now. Enclosed, they call it, like some fancy history lesson, but it's just theft. Pure, gut-wrenching robbery by the Praetorians, those bloodless financiers who've gutted us for centuries. They're packing up, abandoning our hollowed-out lands and what's left of our so-called civilization, handing the keys to the oil kings from the desert who still have tens of millions of young men to sacrifice to the money god. Corrupt and fully owned governments here at home grease the wheels, tokenized finance locks it down. And you? You're watching it happen, eyes wide shut, while they wipe us from our own dirt. Hell, all you cryptdiots are cheering it on.

It starts with the Financialist Kill Chain, that old, rusty blade they've been sharpening since forever. Infiltrate, influence, debt-trap, spot the assets, crash the economy, swap debts for land, suck it dry, then bail. That's the drill. They've done it to empires, to tribes, to anyone with something worth grabbing. Now it's our turn, the once-mighty English Civilization, hollowed like rotten teeth. The goal? Collapse us so they can steal the very ground under our feet. Look at Russia after the Soviets—debts piled high, assets stripped by oligarchs backed by foreign vultures. Wars, bubbles, welfare overloads, corruption rotting from the inside. It's all engineered, a slow kill to prime the Boomer loot for the taking. Wake up—it's your future they're fencing!

Their shiny new toy? Tokenization and crypto, that digital snake oil turning real wealth into pixels on a screen. They call it progress, but it's enclosure 3.0, trapping what wealth remains in algorithms while they sip champagne. Dot-com crash, 2008 meltdown, COVID cash floods—trillions poured in, now locked in a $2 trillion crypto casino that's about become tens of trillions. Financialism's their religion, math their god, and you're the sacrifice. No more commons; just endless tribute to the code priests. It's the great rip-off, humanity's energy enslaved in bits and bytes, built on your taxes, out of your reach. Shock yourself awake—this ain't freedom; it's chains you can't even see.

They pull it off through these fake liberal democracies, bought and paid for, puppets on strings. Started with the Dutch East India pricks in 1602, Venetian bankers pulling the wires. Democracy? Bullshit—it's a tool to crush real kings and princes who wouldn't bend to the money men. Elect some fools, stack the bureaucracy, drown nations in debt, brainwash the masses with ideology, kill all the native sons, whore the women. Sovereignty? Gone. Culture? Homogenized slop. In our lands, it's laws that screw the people, policies that hand Boomer wealth to the shadows. Repression dressed as rights. Stab yourself in the gut— this is how they enclose us, end us, legal and clean.

Don't bother with morals; these Financialists got their own bible, written in ledgers. Back in the 1600s, they kicked out the churches, built stock exchanges instead. Westphalia in 1648 neutered the popes, Glorious Revolution in 1688 crowned the merchants. Joint-stock scams like the VOC turned shares into salvation, central banks like England's in 1694 made debt holy. Accountable aristocrats out, unaccountable investor scum in. Society flipped to worship stuff, growth, abstraction. Their ethics? Steal what you can, enslave everyone, justify with numbers. Boomer trillions? Just another offering on their altar. Ethics won't touch 'em; they're beyond your whining.

For us English types, this shit cycles every 400 years, bloody resets where people, princes, and parliaments claw at each other's throats. Alfred the Great kicked it off in the 800s, Magna Carta in 1215 slapped down kings, Civil War in the 1640s gave parliament teeth, American Revolution tweaked the machine. Now we're in round four, the English peoples cracking under fake divides, preyed upon by human refuse imported for the task, bribed with sanctioned raping of our women, all trust in tatters. It's war every time, blood to balance power. But we gotta beat the Praetorians this go-round, unlike that 1688 fuck-up when they slipped through, giving us the illusion of power just to distract and blind us.

Those Praetorians—Roman ghosts turned finance goons, military spooks, intel rats—run the show now. Illicit cash flows, endless wars, hijacked religions. All run out of Qatar, yeah that one, the one backed the October 7th slaughter. They ditched Christianity for wealth worship, outsource killing to mercs, erode everything real. From Venice to Wall Street, they war on true leaders, embed their kill chain everywhere. Murdering where they must. To win, people and honest princes gotta link arms, smash the lies, reject their money cult. Kill the killers. History's screaming at you—do it, or die quiet.

Face it, you fools: our wealth on paper? Already gone, tucked in UAE contracts, just like it hid in London's City for 300 years. Dubai's the new den, blending Sharia scams with global grease. Gotta spread Sharia law everywhere to lock in the new system, infuse the new regime, lock out what few natives survive. Post-9/11 wars remade the Middle East for this, zero taxes luring the loot, hidden banking structures to secure ill-gotten loot, theft of the Commons. It'll run their machine for ages, exploiting Muslim hordes for labor and cannon fodder. Russia, China, Iran push back, but for us? Boomer assets tokenized, offshore, fueling the handover. Shock: it's stolen, and you're next. You don't have the balls anymore to kill us in vast numbers to deny our claim, the only reply.

And who's helping? Our own rent-sucking traitors—landlords, slumlords, tax-grabbing governments. They don't give a damn who owns the title, long as the cash rolls in. Payrolls, Promotions and Pensions their only concern, millions of Stephens from Django happy to do their master's bidding. Aristotle warned about tyrants loving foreigners; now it's evictions, subsidies for invaders, communities gutted for profit. Our sons demoralized, our women raped. Stockholm, Munich, Paris, New York, London—natives out, migrants in, votes rigged, power diluted. They're selling us out for scraps, speeding the collapse. Wake the fuck up—these disposable in their own country bastards are your neighbors.

But here's their fuck-up, the crack in the wall: Molon Labe. Come and take it, motherfucker! That old Greek growl shamed 'em, the Greeks, into fighting for their dirt. From Westphalia's cage to 1688's sellout, Financialists commodified it all, flooded us with foreign fighters to crush resistance. Debt, screens, weakness—they've doused the fire in our young men's guts. But those sons? We still got 'em, lot of 'em. And as has always been, they're the only real wealth, ready to become battle-hardened in the wars for our lands, deeply wired to defend soil and blood. We got GWOTTERs and even some of the old 'Nam boys still around. We'll train 'em, stand 'em up, let 'em bleed the enemy, our young men. The pass is narrow; and we're gonna have to hold it like the 300 at Thermopylae. Till our own Queen Gorgo, whoever she may turn out to be, rallies the women to empower their native sons to FIGHT.

This last enclosure—theft of Boomer trillions—is the endgame, more than 300 years of predation boiling down to now. It's happening in your face, you blind drunks, you distracted fools. It's happening, the wiping of our people from our lands. The only way to stop it? Deny the new "owners" physical possession. Who gives a fuck what your piece of paper, your digital ledger says. Come and enforce it you limp wristed fucks. Boys! Block the gates, fight like those Spartan ghosts two thousand years back. No abstractions, no pleas—just raw denial, blood in the dirt, this dirt. Reclaim or vanish. You can choose to answer the call or not, time's up, either way.

Time to slap those patches on, boys! Time to stand and fight for our thousand year old civilization, here, in our own lands!