JULY 2021: The Vance Gambit and the Fertility Vote

by C. Boi, The Nigh End Times

The Forked Tongue of J.D. Vance

Apologies are for the guilty and the sleeping. I’ve been wide awake. Watching. Waiting. Marking the shapes in the smoke. So forgive the delay — July’s not done with us yet, and I had to be sure. Had to be sure before I spoke on it. But now I can.

J.D. Vance. Yeah. The Hillbilly Harvard Hero turned populist prophet. You remember when he was the media’s golden boy of backwoods redemption? The poor Appalachian who pulled himself up by the spine and a six-figure advance? Yeah, that one. Mr. Empathy. Mr. Nuance. Mr. Never-Trump.

Well, he had a little meeting this month. Guess with who? That’s right. The Orange Trumpeter himself.

And while that might not surprise you anymore — everyone ends up kissing the ring eventually — what should grab you by the spinal cord is what Vance said out loud this month:

“I think all children should be able to vote, and that their parents should exercise that vote on their behalf.”

Now hold up. Let that stew.

What we have here is the ultimate long game. Weaponizing wombs. Not with bombs, but ballots.

The Vote Womb Complex

On the surface, it sounds like some well-meaning civic innovation. Let the parents speak for the voiceless, they’ll say. But let’s not be naive.

This isn’t about empowering children. This is about empowering breeders. And I don’t say that lightly. Because while the left’s been sterilizing itself with hormone cocktails and identity-driven martyrdom, the right has been quietly collecting spawn like political Pokémon.

You think it’s a coincidence Vance starts floating this idea now? When liberal circles celebrate childlessness like it’s a moral virtue, and conservative homes look more and more like the opening credits of a 19-kid reality show?

This is reproduction as leverage. The womb is now a voting booth. You don’t need to convince the masses — just breed them.

Team Trump. The Second Coming

And who do you think those votes will support?

Let me be clear. It won’t be the party of critical race kindergarten and drag brunches for toddlers. It’ll be the party that still speaks the language of God, guns, and granola bars.

Vance saw the writing on the bunker wall. He said he’d never align with Trump. But now? He’s not just aligning. He’s auditioning.

Don’t let that Yale polish fool you. This guy’s playing a long con. And the audition tape he’s sending to Trump’s handlers? It’s in utero.

Meanwhile in Batland. The Lab Leak Lurks

And while this weird voter-eugenics chess match plays out in public, don’t forget. The smoke’s still rising from Wuhan.

You remember that, right? The lab leak? The bat stew fairy tale?

Because even now, in July 2021, the truth remains buried beneath layers of debunked headlines and social media memory holes. They say the theory’s making a comeback, but they’re only admitting what was obvious from day one.

Gain-of-function. Fauci. EchoHealth. US dollars. Chinese silence.

They called it racist. They called it dangerous. But now they’re just calling it… plausible. And you know what that means.

It means they’re getting ready to admit it. And if they’re ready to admit it, then they already moved on to the next game. Because the mainstream doesn’t apologize. It transitions.

And when the news cycle lets it in, the real damage is already done. The next thing’s already crawling through the sewers.

The Rise of the Puppet Prince

And let me say this too. It ain’t Trump we need to worry about anymore. He was the spark. The showman. The frontman of the chaos band. But he’s old news. A distraction.

They’ve got their eyes on a new type of prince. Not an outsider billionaire. Not a gaffe machine career politician.

They want a shape-shifter. One who can talk Yale in the morning and shotgun a beer by sundown. A man who plays dumb but writes like a scholar. A man with kids, a mortgage, a Bible, and a secret clearance.

They want J.D. Vance.

He’s young. Groomable. Hungry. He’s already proving his loyalty. And when the next wave hits — the wave that makes COVID look like a sneeze — he’ll be right there on stage, pitching biometric voter IDs and lab-grown patriotism.

Disconnect to Reconnect

Meanwhile, you’re sitting there, watching it all go down through your glowing black mirror. Scrolling until your thumb bleeds, dopamine-dripping through curated despair. The illusion of opposition. Of difference. Of choice.

Left. Right. Parent proxy votes. Lab leaks. None of it’s about you. Not really.

They don’t care how you vote. They just care that you fight about it. That you get sick, argue, scroll, inject, detox, jab, unjab, mask up, mask down, stare at strangers like they’re walking viruses.

And while you’re busy doing all that, they’re installing the next layer of the prison.

And I’ll say this, and I’ll say it quiet.

Because some of you aren’t ready yet.

But those elites, the ones funding this? Running it? Playing puppeteer?

They didn’t design the plan. They didn’t write the script.

They got it from somewhere else.

They were promised power. Promised survival. Promised a seat at the post-human table.

But the joke’s on them. They’re already infected. Not with viruses — with obedience. With control.

And soon, you’ll start to see them shifting.

Physically. Politically. Digitally.

Into something else.

But more on that another time.

Con Boi, out.