Just Call Me a Kulak - Granite Grok

Just Call Me a Kulak

Poster_Kulak_Punch_The_Rich John Burtis via ThePeoplesCube

I am so tired of being castigated for being a member of the monied class by Democratic billionaires like Bill Gates, whose divorce threw around more money than many countries.

Al Gore, who has made hundreds of millions jet-setting around the world while talking back the date the Arctic’ll be ice-free.

The Facebook guy Zuckerman, who sent a quick $300 million to equal out the voting in 2020 to save America.

And John Forbes Kerry, a St. Paul boy, who married his billions and had the fire hydrant moved from the front of his Beacon Hill pied-à-terre – parking is dear in The City on a Hill.

The ruling Democrats and socialists lambaste and excoriate me at every turn for being part of some kind of a vaulted ruling class for daring to possess a bit of land, running water, two automobiles, two dogs, a brace of cats, 2 and 3/4 inside bathrooms, a ceiling fan, some books, a dining room set, my old fire coat, window curtains, a kitchen sink, a “sewing room” where my wife piles all her junk, a lithograph of Gen. Jimmy Doolittle and a well-worn grill on the back deck.

So, just call me a “kulak.”

We want to thank John Burtis for this Op-Ed. If you have an Op-Ed or LTE
you would like us to consider, please submit it to Editor@GraniteGrok.com.

You remember those dreaded kulaks. They were the “rich” peasants who were declared a class enemy by Uncle Joe Stalin in the late 20s and early 30s, and then wiped out because they had a little joint of their own, a few pigs or chickens, some stored grain, clothes, maybe some shoes, and were then declared enemies of the state because, it was stated in Pravda, they hoarded grain to make foodstuffs when they became “hungry.”

Yep, those doggone kulaks refused to knuckle under and allow the forfeiture of everything they had, failed to starve quickly enough, hid their pigs and cows, and actually, in many cases, tried to survive. For all that they were killed in their many millions.

Today we face the same pressures from those new Democrat socialists. Many of us refuse to hand over everything to the government, fail to recognize Uncle Joe Biden, Nancy Pelosi, The NY Times and MSNBC as the final God-like arbiters of good sense, healthcare, food, knowledge, jobs, electricity, water, automobiles and gasoline. Because of this passive resistance, we kulaks were declared “rich,” enemies of the state, and will be hounded for our little bit of cash and grain as long as the Democrats, their socialist lackeys, their media stooges and Red Chinese cheerleaders remain in power.

How did I acquire this vast kulak wealth which requires, in my case, a sack of corn kernels and a flat surface to count them out on?  I’m retired.


Well, let’s see. I was smashed to pieces twice as a cop and left for dead once on Wilshire Boulevard, in Los Angeles, not a pretty sight at that, my fellow cops are forever telling me when we get together.

When I woke up in intensive care, there wasn’t a single Democratic senator worth their salt around to verify my injuries, my lengthy recuperation, my head trauma, my broken neck, and explain my classification as a kulak or to cluck over my future as a class enemy, so I’m stuck in that dreaded limbo today — that of being retired, fabulously wealthy, and writing this from the alleged comfort of my expansive and luxurious home while my long suffering wife works to keep the whole thing afloat and any number of Biden’s fervid IRS men away from the door.

Oh, yes, it’s not easy being outrageously flush in America, not when you’re constantly hounded by the progressives who think you’re not paying your fair share in all kinds of tolls, levies, tariffs, taxes, fees, and exactions, and they’re ready, willing and able to take what little you have accrued away in an instant with new legislation passed on a voice vote late some Friday evening before a recess.

We’re kulaks, alright, and so are our friends. We don’t really know any of the super rich Democrats who are always passing judgment on us all the time. They always seem to hang around the big name places where we don’t feel at home, like Davos, Beverly Hills and Aspen.

Someday, if the Democrats ever interconnect every Dominion/SMARTMATIC voting machine, all of us kulaks will be swept away, just like they did in the USSR in those heady days when Uncle Joe wanted the harvest for the city workers while the peasants wanted to eat and they came up short and were ploughed under by the massive Kirovets tractors supplied by those huge machine tractor stations.

Rich is just a term for today’s class struggle between today’s American kulaks, who have the means for a few of life’s finer things, like a TV, maybe air-conditioning, a refrigerator, a car, some private property, and those who want to take it all for the advancement of socialism while they fatten their own wallets in the next great failure of another progressive experiment brought to New Hampshire by our Four Horse People of the Socialist Calypso: “Flap Jack” Pappas and our zhensoviety (female soviets) Kuster, Shaheen and “Magster” Hassan.

We would work, the kulaks always do before they disappear and our four golden pheasants enjoy the socialist paradise. But with the kulaks gone, who’ll pay the freight on the lifestyle of our rich and famous New Hampshire foursome?