Inheritance and Health

Dual Fronts in this Fucked Up Generational War

I’m sitting here in this dinning room become office, the walls remembering too many conversations about dreams long gone, putting down a bottle of French red that smooths the melancholy all the way down. The world outside’s a slaughterhouse, brothers—fifth-generation warfare, where the knives are information and law, slicing you open without a drop of blood showing until you’re hollow inside. It’s the Financialists’ game, those bloodsucking vultures who’ve been carving up our empires since the 1600s, their Kill Chain a seven-step dance to genocide: infiltrate, debt-choke, strip bare, castrate the spirit, and leave you collapsing in your own filth. We’re deep in it now, America, teetering on Step #7, where the rage is a cold civil war, and the cartels carve turf from our bones while the elites revel in the bucks stolen in the chaos.

But listen up, you younger bastards—Millennials, Gen Z, the ones staring at screens full of nothing but debt and despair. And you older ones, Boomers clutching your scraps, Gen X like me, graying punks with latchkey scars and a lifetime of no-shits-given. There are two fights we’ve got to win, or we’re done, finished, rotting in the gutter like yesterday’s trash. These aren’t side shows; they’re the main fronts, simultaneous wars we wage cold or hot, both, with everything we’ve got. The young must charge the lines, teeth bared and fists swinging; the old must resource it, lead from the shadows with whatever wisdom and coin we’ve hoarded. Fail one, and the other crumbles. Lose both, and the Financialists win, owning nothing left but our graves.

First, the wealth—the Boomers’ wealth, that last heartbeat of the commons they’re dying to steal. It’s homes, savings, equities, the blood-sweat pile from decades of grinding. These bastards have us $40 trillion in the hole, bridges crumbling, schools breeding idiots, properties flogged to foreigners because we can’t pay the taxman’s ransom. They funded the Bolsheviks to gut Russia, then swooped in the ‘90s to pick the bones clean—oil fields for pennies while the people starved. Now it’s our turn: endless wars like Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan to bury us in debt, financializing life into a casino where we lose the house, literally. They want us owning nothing, unhappy serfs sucking dick for fame and a buck. But that wealth? It’s the seed for rebirth. Preserve it, hand it down, or the young inherit jack shit but chains and premature death.

We older ones lead this scrap—Boomers fortify your estates against the tax vultures and institutional thieves, Gen X mobilizing like the feral nomads we are, ready to burn the board rather than fold. You young ones execute: digital insurgency, exposing their schemes in the info war, lawfare with community nets and legal knives. If it goes hot—riots to revolution—us GWOT vets, echoes of the French and Indian War fighters, we’ll be the spine. We’ve got the skills to take down not mere empires, but the Mob State, sanctioned organized crime in government and banker's suits. Without this transfer, no rebuilding. With it, we rise from the ashes, fists full of fire.

And running parallel, the health fight—the retaking of our bodies from the medical meat grinder that’s complicit in the castration. They’ve waged war on testosterone, dropping levels 1% a year since the ‘80s: endocrine poisons in the water, estrogen oceans from the pill, nutrition-free slop turning men into husks, women into emotional wrecks. Step #6 of the Kill Chain, spiritual gutting—kids illiterate, bodies bloated, minds fogged, too weak to resist. Engineered plagues, synthetically amped for “demographic impact,” mimicking the Black Death to collapse us under their boot. We’re half-dead already, numb and terrified, primed for the final plunder.

Force the evolution: from profit-palliatives to real healing—hormone blasts, detox, biotech unchained from elite strings. Older generations resource—back the alt-research, support practices and practitioners doing it right, teach survival where medicine and navigation trump hoards in true collapse. Young ones storm: info war exposing Big Pharma and medical regulator psyops, lawfare on corrupt regulators and judges, we have to overwhelm their immense capacity to lie. Health is everything in the wealth war; weakness invites the vultures, ensures we lose all. Pump resolve—testosterone, growth hormone, whiskey, rage—whatever keeps the fire lit.

These fronts are one beast, intertwined in The Eternal War. I’ve seen it, brothers—from Green Beret days to the analyst’s desk, the patterns repeat like a bad hangover. The young win it on the ground; the old lead from the barstool, from comfortable living rooms. Cold or hot, we approach as primary battles, or history’s merciless motherfucker erases us. No mercy in reality, just the roar of freedom or the whisper of extinction. Time to stop being little bitches. Let's pour one out, stand to these motherfuckers, and make it a real goddamn meatgrinder of a fight. Time to Cowboy the Fuck up in this 5th Generation Warfare!