Shut the #@&! Up Stephen Miller

Time to slither back into the swamp you came from

Moral vacuums create a distinct atmosphere. They suck the oxygen out of a room and leave behind the stale scent of rot. The West Wing currently suffers from this suffocation because you are sitting in it.

You are not a man so much as a walking void in a bespoke suit. You are a black hole that consumes decency and emits nothing but cold, bureaucratic cruelty.

History is full of men like you. Men who sit at desks and move paper that destroys lives. Men who have never felt the warmth of genuine human connection and try to fill that freezing empty space with power.

You are a malignancy. You have metastasized into the marrow of the executive branch.

A Lesson You Never Learned

Political strategist Steve Schmidt recently recounted a story about President Gerald Ford that illuminates everything you are not.

The year was 1975. Ford’s Golden Retriever, Liberty, relieved herself in the middle of a meeting at Camp David. A Navy steward immediately rushed to clean the mess. He was doing his job. He was serving the Commander-in-Chief.

But Ford stopped him. The President of the United States got down on his hands and knees and cleaned it up himself. He told the room, “No man should ask another man to pick up his dog’s shit.”

That is dignity. That is leadership. You are the anti-Ford.

The Trash Man Cometh

We know exactly who you are because you told us back in 1992. You stood on a stage at Santa Monica High School and whined like a petulant child.

You asked your classmates, “Am I the only one who is sick and tired of being told to pick up my trash?”You sneered that there were “plenty of janitors who are paid to do it for us.”

Those janitors were people of color. You viewed them as your personal servants. You revealed your “unfathomable entitlement” before you were old enough to vote. You never learned to pick up your own trash. You just grew up and started treating human beings like garbage.

The Nightmare Unleashed

That sick teenager is now running Homeland Security. The year is 2026, and you have turned the American government into a weapon of mass misery.

You have set a quota for ICE. Three thousand human beings a day. You demand numbers. You demand bodies. You explicitly told agents to “arrest noncriminal migrants” just to pad your stats.

You treat people like cattle. You snap at officials who try to follow the law because the law is an inconvenience to your sadism. You want to see people in cages because it makes you feel tall.

The Blood of a Poet

Renee Nicole Good is dead because of you. Say her name. She was a 37-year-old poet. She was a mother who had just dropped off her six-year-old son. Your paramilitary thugs stopped her in Minneapolis.

She tried to drive away from the men with guns. An agent shot her in the face. Three times. Point-blank range. This was an execution. And what did you do? You and your cronies called her a “domestic terrorist.”

Your soulless stormtroopers killed a mother and then you spat on her memory, assassinated her character.

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The Sadist’s Fantasy

Cruelty is your only currency. You once suggested dipping the severed head of a terrorist leader in pig’s blood and parading it around. That is not strategy. That is the wet dream of a psychopath.

You have championed “Alligator Alcatraz,” a concept so cartoonishly evil it sounds like fiction. But it is real, and the suffering inflicted there is real.

You are a “lonely boy” who is “unloved, forsaken, abandoned, and thoroughly broken.” You are trying to inflict your own internal misery on the rest of the world.

Imperial Madness

Your delusions have gone global. You are actually pushing for an invasion of Greenland. You think we can just take it. You claim “nobody is going to fight the United States militarily” over it. It is “amateurish” and “insane,” but you don’t care.

You played a leading role in directing strikes on Venezuelan boats, bypassing the National Security Council because you think you are a warlord. You are playing a video game with live ammunition.

You are a danger to every living thing on this planet because you have the emotional maturity of a school shooter and the nuclear codes within reach.

The Janitors Were Better Than You

Those janitors you mocked in high school had more honor in their little fingers than you have in your entire body. They worked. They contributed. They had dignity.

You have nothing. You are nothing. You are a “natural-born Nazi” who believes that your bloodline makes you superior. It does not. It makes you a genetic accident that wasted its potential on hate.

Your own family looks at you with “dismay and increasing horror.” Your uncle called you a hypocrite because you are the descendant of refugees fleeing pogroms, yet you slam the door on the desperate.

The Stain on History

Your children will one day know what you did. They will see the videos of the cages. They will read the reports of the shootings. They will hear the tapes of the crying children. And they will disown him.

They will look at their father and feel a “shame they do not own,” as Schmidt astutely observed.

That is your legacy, Stephen. A trail of tears and a family that wishes you were someone else. You are building a monument to your own self-loathing, and you are trapping your loved ones inside it.

Shut the Fuck Up

So do us all a favor. Shut your mouth. Stop writing the memos. Stop issuing the orders. Stop breathing the air that belongs to decent people.

We are done with your racism. We are done with your misogyny. We are done with the “epic assholery” that you mistake for strength.

You are the mess on the carpet. You are the trash that needs to be taken out. You are a small, hateful man casting a long shadow only because the sun is setting on our democracy. But we will bring the light back. And we will flush you away.

Stephen Miller - you racist, misogynistic pig - shut the fuck up.

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