The Mystery of Rising Tensions

[NewsFeed]

Have you noticed tensions rising? It seems as if every tension on earth lately is gaining altitude. It’s becoming a real problem, and mostly because people like you aren’t relinquishing quickly enough to people like them. The result is one big tension trebuchet. And everyone is getting hit.

Consider a personal example: if I try to caulk your sinus cavities and you don’t let me, we’re almost certain to face rising tensions. It won’t be pleasant for either of us, and we both have you to thank for that. The situation is no different on a societal scale. Just look at Greece.

What do you imagine is causing these rising tensions? A million foreign parasites landing like a plague of cicadas on an already economically struggling country? No idiot. Tensions are rising because…oh hell, I’ll just go ahead and tell you.

See? Bloodless Europeans have erected a Kafkaesque(!) thicket of go-slow rules, when they could have built a maglev train from Kabul to Paris by now. And do you know why they haven’t made migration go fast? Because the aim of white families in Vienna is to kill hope, that’s why. Just as my hope was to fill your head with silicon gel–and you killed that too, you duplicitous shit.

Here’s some more color commentary on that European abattoir of hope.

The mutilated rabbit on the doorstep was the latest warning. A fortnight of menacing incidents, including a smash-and-grab break-in and glue in the locks, culminated this week with the dead animal left in front of the building. The message was clear: the refugee kitchen was not welcome in Chios.

The Greek island of 50,000 has hosted about 2,500 asylum seekers since the EU in March signed its refugee deal with Turkey, and tempers are fraying. A tranquil place of mastic trees and secluded beaches, Chios has become a cauldron of frustration for locals and migrants alike.

None more so than in the village of Chalkios, home to the Basque-run refugee kitchen and minutes from the Vial asylum camp, set up in an old factory among olive groves.

“The intimidation is increasing day by day. A lot of people from the village hate us,” says Daniel Rivas of the Zaporeak-Sabores kitchen, run by Spanish volunteers and turning out 1,400 meals a day. “At the beginning the Greeks were helping. They’re not fascists or anything. But they’re not with the refugees like before. They’re against them now.”

Yes, Daniel Rivas of the Basque-run refugee kitchen, the Greek people hate you. Vividly. And at a rapidly approaching point even the grandmothers will look at you with murder in their eyes. A prudent man would accept these signals as gracious warnings to cease. Though a prudent man wouldn’t be toiling to turn the Camp of the Saints into non-fiction either.

But it’s not only those Spaniards making war on the Greeks who seem dazzled by the ancient instinctual reactions of invaded man. The enemy sappers themselves can’t seem to fathom what’s the hold-up.

Hamid Hagadust has had quite enough. First h

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