#CorruptSystem

Smiling After Violation: A Story From Across a Toilet Door

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Would you live like me?

Would you accept to live between organized crime gangs and cartel members, putting yourself and your family in danger—while your home is monitored 24/7 with cameras, recordings, pictures taken, personal things stolen?

Would you live with no hope, in the middle of a socialist corruption where dirty money matters more than the safety of people?

This has been my life. Ten years. In this place.

I don’t know how I’ve survived it.

Maybe God protected me. Maybe I was just stubborn enough to keep refusing to join any of them—neither the cartels nor the corrupt CIA or law enforcement playing their own organized crime games.

Maybe I survived because I kept seeing the human behind the mask—the broken one that led them into crime in the first place.

But it is very hard.

Day by day, I face danger. Robberies. Dirt. Violation.

No help. Alone—trying to protect my family the best way I can.

Today, I write this while waiting in front of a toilet.

This morning, I found they had stolen one of my dresses—just a $5 second-hand dress.

But they knew I was out, they always know.

And when I’m gone, they come in and take whatever they want.

My house has become their store. The crazy man’s store. The dirty CIA’s store. They stole my laptop, my phones.

It’s sad. The corrupted police close their eyes. Everyone else lives happy.

Except me.

Me—unhappy, stuck in dirty socialism.

Yesterday, the Illuminati told me I’m “worth it.”

I laughed, and I kept writing my stories.

Many of them are organized crime.

They know me.

I don’t know them.

But I feel their energy.

They are organized crime—international, networked, invisible.

In a world controlled by madmen, you hope at least the criminals are rational.

But—sorry, Illuminati—not even that.

And no, I never wanted to be part of it.

No woman in? Good. I never asked to be. You forgot the CIA. You forgot the crime boss yelling at me. You forgot the home invasions, the gangstalking, the dirty videos shared between members like trophies.

I never chose a side.

I never belonged to them. But they messed with me. They destroyed my life.

Alone. A woman alone—facing the most dangerous organized crime networks, cartels, gangs, and the corrupted arms of law enforcement, intelligence, and politics.


How fair does that sound?

Today they stole my $5 second-hand dress. Maybe they thought I wouldn’t notice.

Maybe they hoped I’d forget. Maybe they thought they could gaslight me.

So I put on my gypsy skirt and left the house—for them to come in and steal more. Violate more.

Do it, you piece of shit! Just like your fathers! Just like your mothers, sisters, and brothers—crazy, entitled filth, feeding on destruction!

When I left the house, I knew they’d come in again.

Because that’s what socialism is—twisting and stealing from genuine people, messing with them.

At the exit door, he smiled—holding his dog close.

I sat by a coffee shop for three hours, letting them rob my home.

And when I left, I smiled.

Did he know I smiled because I knew I’d been robbed?

Have you ever smiled after you were violated?

That’s strength.

Smile. No masks.
People wear masks to deceive, to gain power.

But true people stay true.


So tell me—
Were you ever violated?
Or were you the one who ordered it?

If you’re laughing now, I hope your evil soul enjoys it.

Truth Don’t Beg

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I walk to calm my mind.
Even in this fake-ass, broken-down, corrupt system.

I was born in a communist country.
Don’t come at me with theories—I lived that shit.

I know what communism, socialism, and capitalism really are.

And I know damn well how cartels, gangs, and government thugs work.

They’re in every system.
Running it.
Destroying people.

Corruption ain’t the exception. It’s the damn engine.

When you’re young, you wanna fix the world.

When you’re old, you finally see:
The world don’t wanna be fixed.
The people in charge don’t want “fair.”
They protect their dirty money, their dirty power, and their dirty games.


You got three choices in this mess:
JOIN ‘EM.
FIGHT ‘EM.
Or STAY THE F*** OUT THE WAY.


I chose the last one.

Why? ‘Cause I’m tired. And smart.
And I’m not selling my soul to fit into their rigged game.


No one cares about you.
Not your family.
Not society.
Not the system.

You’re only human to them when you got money to spend or a number to add to their stats.

Need help?
It’s on their terms.
Need care?
It’s when they say so.
And even then—you gotta beg for what should be yours.


This world?
It ain’t built for humans.
It’s built for profit.


Now let me tell you what hit me today.


She was gorgeous. A Latina. Homeless. Addicted.

Still holding onto something—hope?

Maybe she was still trying.
Maybe she gave up long ago and just kept walking. Like me , like you, like many others!

I saw her again on the bus. High. Disconnected. Floating. Gone.

In any other world, she’d be a queen.

Here? She’s just a “problem.” A statistic. A burden.


The system don’t talk to women like her.

It ignores them.

Because if it saw her, it’d have to admit it failed.


They toss her crumbs—just enough to keep her from dying, not enough to actually live.

And guess what?

The same bastards who denied her help are the ones pushing the dope.
Same hands. Same money. Same evil.


They sell pain.
They buy silence.

And they wash their hands clean with public funds.


Socialism?
Same scam. Different name.
They move dirty money through “government programs,” pocket the profit, and leave people like her to rot.

And me? I’m a nurse. A damn good one.
But I don’t play their dirty game, so they don’t want me.
They don’t want real.
They want silence. They want obedience.


As I sat on that cracked-up bus, smelling weed, meth, and broken dreams, I looked at her and I prayed.


I prayed she makes it.
I prayed she stays alive.
I prayed luck finds her before death does.


And I made myself a promise:
If I ever get the hell outta this country,
I’ll write the truth in a letter so loud it burns through their f***ing desks.


Until then, I’ll keep walking.

Head high. Soul intact.

Even if this world is a mess!


— With love,
Your pissed-off, truth-telling Granny.

Lost Pants, Lost Hope: Adventures of a U.S. Nurse in a Socialist Wonderland

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I’m a proud U.S. RN, isolated in a socialist paradise where “freedom of speech” is a distant dream, and basic survival is like a sport.

Here, the only guarantee is that my fridge will be as empty as my chances of finding justice for what they did to me—and possibly my future too.

Let me tell you about the scene. I live in a gang-controlled apartment block in a neighborhood where criminals roam free and “society” provides special support to people who would normally need their own warning labels.

Surrounded by organized crime members, crazy “eccentrics” (to not say transgenders) who double as neighborhood watch-women, and mentally unstable folks — but no, here they’re all embraced as model citizens. Why?

Because their crime rings fund the very socialism that I’m stuck in.

Turns out, dirty money buys a lot of social welfare!

Now, about those pants.

My three pairs of beloved, second-hand pants—poof! Stolen.

Imagine my distress: one day, they were all there, and the next, they were off roam around the city, possibly in the hands of one of my criminally-inclined neighbors.

Was it Mihailov (Mike to his mob friends), the paranoid guy who wanders around gripping random pairs of pants like they’re his prized possessions?

Or maybe the “fashion-conscious” gang member from a rival faction who, for reasons beyond me, decided that my worn-out pants were just what they needed to complete their latest ensemble.

The transgender woman sponsoring the homeless people, could be too, because she was a homeless and is into the ring ding ding organized crime circles of community “sharing”? Sure she can!

Now, as a rational person, I considered going to the police.

Then I realized: we’re in socialism, baby! This is a land where if you complain about stolen pants, you’re met with blank stares and reminded that society comes first.

“Why should we care about your pants?” they’d ask. “You’re just one person, and we’re busy protecting the collective!”

Who cares if my apartment gets violated, as long as “society” feels safe and sound?

In fact, every job I’ve found here—the ones that proudly claim to “improve society”—is suspiciously linked to organized crime.

You could connect the dots on my resume and end up with a full-blown organized crime SOCIALIST tree.

“Why do they let you go?”. Because they were clique, gang or organized crime and I refused to be part of them! How does it sound to a job interview?

But here’s the kicker: I still keep speaking up. I protest that they’ve robbed me of my pants, my food, my safety, my career, my dreams, and most of my sanity, lol.

So here I am, in a socialist reality funded by crime, shivering in my pants-less glory, with no real hope for change.

My one piece of advice? If anyone tells you, socialism is THE HEAVEN, kindly point them to my empty fridge, my lost pants, my apartment door used by the criminals in my neighborhood and my destroyed life.

Socialism is NOT heaven! Is the HELL and Organized Crime at the top level!

Why did they steal my old pants? Why did they mess with my life?