28Nov2025 (Leadership kit idea)

The speaker records a long, late-night walking monologue, timestamping it around November 27 and noting the cold weather, his clothes, and physical discomforts (cold hands, itchy skin, tired legs, an itchy spot he keeps scratching). He keeps mentioning layers, gloves, and the temperature, using these details as a background loop while he walks through neighborhoods, parking lots, and downtown Florence.

He moves in and out of wordplay: vowels (“A E I O U and sometimes Y”), “the eyes do not lie,” and jokes about there being “no I in leader.” He fixates on eyes, eye contact, and “evil eyes” as symbols of power, objectification, and paranoia. He repeatedly warns, in a mock-authoritarian tone, not to look leaders in the eye and riffs on the idea that followers must keep their gaze down, blending dark humor and anxiety about hierarchy.

Leadership, power, and cruelty are recurring themes. He invents a dark “leader kit” (knife, lye, alcohol, air horn) and imagines grotesque, exaggerated punishments (cutting out eyes, castrating, removing tongues or eardrums, chopping off fingers) framed as satire of authoritarian control, trauma bonding, and historical atrocities. He references Nazis, eugenics in early-20th-century America, slavery, “buck breaking,” and the way regimes force subordinates to share guilt so they can’t later claim innocence. These references are treated as grim comedic material, not as endorsements.

The monologue wanders through U.S. politics and media: Trump, welfare checks, stimulus payments, “buying votes,” Republicans vs. Democrats, police hierarchies, unions, and “deep state” conspiracies. He jokes about populism, cults of personality, and how both parties bribe and flatter voters instead of demanding responsibility. He frames Democrats and Republicans as two versions of manipulation, linking them to historic leaders, war decisions, and oil politics. He touches on Iraq, Ukraine, and realpolitik, speculating about motives behind wars and peace deals, and worries about drones, surveillance, and future repression.

He repeatedly returns to crime, cops, and violence: traffic stops, police pay, special units, UAV strikes, cartel or smuggling scenarios, and the idea of “falling on the sword” for a leader. He mixes in wrestling references (Raven and his “flock”), TV and movie characters, and historical figures (Hitler, Göring, Lenin, slave masters) as shorthand symbols in his riffs on obedience and cruelty. He also mentions scandals around P. Diddy and Epstein and pop-culture memes.

The tone jumps between self-mockery, anger, exhaustion, and gallows humor. He calls himself lazy and incompetent, scolds himself for not editing videos or cleaning his camera lens, and frames these walks as forced creativity drills: he complains that he has “no ideas” yet must keep talking. He keeps asking “and then what?” as a way to push the monologue forward, often filling silence with repetitions, humming, nonsense syllables, or free association when nothing else comes to mind.

Throughout the walk he describes what he sees: cars, dogs, murals, Christmas lights, smart cars, helicopters, restaurants, stickers, storefronts, a car wash sign, a copy and fax shop, an inflatable “baby on top of the world,” downtown holiday decorations, and a “Patriot Front / Reclaim America” sticker he reads as some kind of right-wing branding. These become springboards for side jokes about capitalism, restaurants going out of business, marketing, and how much of life feels like copy-pasted filler.

He muses about drugs (coffee, alcohol, weed, cocaine, meth, ether) mostly as dark jokes about craving stimulation or escape, mixing in references to Manson’s control tactics and commentary on conditioning and addiction. He also reflects on jobs and customer-service norms, saying he expects work to be miserable and is suspicious of people who seem happy in their jobs, contrasting his desire for omniscience and omnipotence with the ordinariness of wage labor.

As the hours pass—four hours of walking—he notes the time repeatedly, circles back to earlier bits (slaves fearing bondage more than masters, Hitler/Argentina submarine riff, Trump stimulus, eye-based metaphors, the leader kit), and acknowledges the repetition. He ends by saying the whole thing “wasn’t that good, but good enough,” congratulating himself sarcastically for the effort and closing the monologue with a weary shrug.