Tales of Bastiat, Twitch’s Favorite Environmental Destruction Lawyer
Hello lovely people. Below I’ve reproduced the first two Tales of the Tales of Bastiat, most of which he read on stream back in the day! I’m working on finishing the Tales and compiling them into some sort of product that contains most of my written work from the Bastiat server days, excluding BNN. Enjoy Tales One and Two below as a preview. Be sure to check out my substack for future updates and content to be published SOON.
Tale One: Bastiat Quells A Protest (Part One)
From a very early age, Bastiat knew that he wanted to make a difference in the world. While many
young children’s minds are filled with dreams of traveling into space, rescuing innocent people from
burning buildings, and generally being a force of good in the world, Bastiat had more realistic goals.
It is hard to tell exactly when some people go bad. Was Saddam Hussein destined to be evil from the
moment of conception? Did some childhood event in Ted Bundy’s life set him up to be what he
became? Perhaps we will never know. Perhaps evil is something that cannot ever be fully understood
regardless of how much we know about the human brain.
Our friend Bastiat was dozing off in a meeting one day at his job as an attorney. Before him was a half
eaten scone and some general notes about how climate change is a hoax concocted by Al Gore and
perpetuated by Barack Obummer. The cocaine tray had already made its way around the table once,
maybe twice. All in all, a fairly typical Monday for Bastiat.
But twenty minutes into this weekly gathering of degenerates things took an interesting turn.
“Now we really need to lend support to our brethren in North Dakota to get this goddamned pipeline up
and running. As you all know, God-Emperor Trump has owned Energy Transfers Partners stock in the
past and I am good friends with many on the senior management team over there.” said the Boss Man.
“Does anyone have any ideas on how we can ram this project through and undermine the efforts of all
of the lazy millennial protesters who are flocking to Sitting Bull?”
“Standing Rock sir.” a junior attorney corrected.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“The reservation is called Standing Rock sir,” the young attorney corrected again. “Sitting Bull was a
Lakota leader who fought Custer at Little Bighorn but he was killed by the American government at
Standing Rock Reservation which is why you may be confused.”
A silenced settled over the room as it wasn’t often that the Boss Man was challenged openly, especially
during the Monday gathering. The way Bastiat saw things, it could go one of two ways from here.
Either the Boss Man would cuss out the insubordinate attorney or he would literally snap his fingers
and have his henchmen beat the living shit out of this sniveling, self-righteous know-it-all libtard.
“Right, right, very good, Standing Rock.” the Boss Man acknowledged his mistake to the utter shock to
the rest of the room. “Treaties are terrible business for our business. Does anyone have any ideas on
how to exploit the Native people? Anyone?”
Bastiat felt a surge of excitement, and not just because the coke tray was two people away as it
continued its voyage around the room. “Umm sir.” he piped up. “My favorite founding father, Thomas
Jefferson, once pondered to James Madison about the validity of any legal contract lasting longer than a
generation. He was concerned about the enslavement of future generations to agreements not expressly
consented to by these new members of society. I see no reason why we should honor treaties with
Native tribes, whether in practice or in principle, if Jefferson once thought that the Constitution was
only binding for some 19 years. We’ve given these Natives enough time to move across open borders
to new lands with new economic opportunities and new capitalistic enterprises.”
The Boss Man stroked his white bushy mustache. For a few painfully long moments, Bastiat was
unsure if he had supplied a satisfactory answer. He was about to instinctively reach for the comforts of
the coke tray that was now before him, but then, something in the Boss Man’s demeanor changed for
the good and he exclaimed, almost leaping out of his chair “Bastiat pack your bags we are sending you
to Sitting Bull on our private jet!”
“Standing Rock, sir, as I said before the name is Stand….” The Boss Man drew his Smith and Wesson
357 revolver and emptied three expert shots into the chest of his agitator. Bastiat signed a non
disclosure agreement and was on his way to The Dakotas to enforce the fossil fuels agenda that he
wholeheartedly believed in.
To be continued…
Tale Two: Bastiat Quells A Protest (Part Two)
As Bastiat flew over the American heartland, he couldn’t help but be touched by the natural beauty of
these flyover states. Before he could get a full on boner from thinking about God’s creation, his mind
wandered to soybean tariffs and he went flatter than a football at Foxborough.
Bastiat knew that this mission was his big chance to move up at his company. His motives had been
questioned from his first day as every once in a while his poisonous centrist mindset oozed out in
casual conversations, especially when his guard was lowered by ingesting schedule one substances.
This was his moment, the rise of Bastiat, son of nobody parents who left him at a young age in
downtown Miami where he had to scrape by on his own. Bastiat could finally forge his own path!
Upon touchdown, Bastiat was shuttled directly to the protest location. He smelled the protesters before
he ever saw them. And when he saw them he physically vomited. “Fucking dirty hippie libtards”
Bastiat sniggered into his puke bag. “I will teach all of these bastards a lesson they will never forget, if
they even live to have memories.”
Before Bastiat’s arrival, the strategy to pacify the protests was to use water canons and other non-lethal
modes of dissuasion. “Can’t we just lock all of these people in cages like we do to immigrants at the
border?” Bastiat posed the question to the Head of Security. “I mean, if we are being totally honest with
ourselves, Natives love to claim they are a sovereign nation when they want to ignore white man’s laws
and build casinos, so why can’t we treat them like the foreign human garbage that they are.”
“I like the way you think kid.” The Head of Security was a big, bald man. Someone that you just knew
either had a massive penis or a micro penis, there was no in between. It was all or nothing when it came
to this extremely SWOL Mr. Clean impersonator. But he had Bastiat’s respect, something that women,
minorities, and poor people rarely receive due to their perceived economic value in a capitalist
economy. Baldy could see that Bastiat was eager to get to work but he said “We’ll talk more about
strategy at tonight’s security round table as we prepare for tomorrow’s work” and dismissed Bastiat for
the afternoon.
A few hours later, after Bastiat was all settled in his sleeping quarters and had already joined the
security crew for a supper of beans and liberal tears, it was time for the big boys to discuss strategy.
Bastiat knew what he had to do, but he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to do it. It was time for him
to let the past die and secure his destiny as a premier environmental destruction attorney.
The Head of Security explained the scope and timeline of the next day’s work, and was careful in
explaining the security threats and unique challenges that could arise given the hostile nature of Antifa.
Before closing the rather routine security brief, Bastiat again found some courage in his black soul and
said “Sir, permission to go behind hostile lines tonight to neutralize the threat and gather intelligence.”
“And what exactly do you plan on accomplishing on this mission of yours?”
Bastiat smiled like the Grinch after stealing thousands of presents “Everything.”
Preparing for his night mission was no small feat. Bastiat had to remove his suit and store it in such a
way that it would maintain its pristine shine. And he had to find a way to blend in with the hostile
libtards. He dressed in mostly black and painted a peace sign on his forehead and set off into the
darkness towards the enemy camp.
He found that most of the libtards were sleeping, and almost all of the fires were burning low. “These
fucking disgusting morons haven’t even set guards” muttered Bastiat in contempt. The camp was laid
out rather haphazardly, but Bastiat was able to spot the leader’s tent near the center as it was much
larger and nicer than most of the outlying tents. He was never more certain of what must happen. About
20 meters away from the tent, a homely looking hippie from Iowa stumbled out of her tent and grabbed
Bastiat by his floppy biceps.
“Oh, you look like a strapping young man, and I love your rainbow peace sign” moaned the wench.
“Put a white upper-class baby in me Daddy.”
Five minutes later Bastiat was on his way again to the leader’s tent. There was a lamp illuminating a
small desk inside, and as Bastiat moved past the half-opened door flap the man sitting behind the desk
dropped the pen he was writing with in surprise. “And who might you be friend?” inquired the dirty,
disgusting leader of the opposition.
“I am Bastiat, son of nobody, a crusader for Fossil Fuels and I am here to end this foolish protest.”
The smelly leader responded slyly “You have no power here Bastiat. No corporate masters. Only your
fellow man that you must answer to. Our agenda is to preserve our waters and to protect our sacred way
of life. Surely, you must understand that?”
“It would be far better for you to broadly invest your time and money in total market index funds so
that when large companies like Energy Transfer Partners makes a profit you get a slice of that
economic gain. Don’t resist capitalism, me and my friends are your friends, if you will only let us help
you” Bastiat stated.
“How dare you, I shouldn’t even be here but your dreams of unlimited capital growth are a scourge
upon this holy land. I am Leaping Frog, Chief of these lands and this protest will shut down this foolish
pipeline.” Chief Leaping Frog was slowly moving closer to Bastiat. “I commend your spirit young
man, but we will stop this pipeline by any means necessary.”
Bastiat was beginning to feel nervous, anxious, and a smidge of regret. Oh, how he wished a coke tray
was near! His perception of time warped. Chief Leaping Frog was still slowly moving towards Bastiat,
albeit in a non-threatening way.
“Be with me” Bastiat said inwardly, looking towards the sky.
“Be with me” he repeated more loudly and the words now echoed in his mind as his head tilted back
even further.
Bastiat’s big brain exploded in a vision of blinding white light as all of the great capitalists before him
flashed into his mind’s eye.
“Profits over people Bastiat” one said.
“Do it for the return on investment” echoed another.
“Be the profit you want to see in the world” urged a third.
“Great profit is born from great opportunity” another instructed.
Bastiat came back into himself full energy and life. The levels of Freedom in his veins surged to their
biological limits. Chief Leaping Frog was almost upon him now and his right hand began to rise.
The chief finally spoke “Our movement is inevitable. I am inevitable”
Bastiat quickly reached into his hippie trousers and produced a knife, stabbing through the Chief’s neck
with two quick successive thrusts and severing his carotid artery. “And I am Bastiat.”
He watched the Chief bleed out for half a minute before departing the tent. The camp was quiet and
Bastiat was alone with his thoughts as he walked back to his class of people. In less than 24 hours
Bastiat had changed the course of human history, although in a small way. The following day the
protesters dispersed and Bastiat was sent home. No one asked any questions and only a few had a real
hint of what transpired that night. The protesters seemed far to afraid to even acknowledge that their
leader was assassinated in the dark of night.
Unbeknownst to Bastiat, he left a little part of himself inside a bright-eyed 19 year old girl from Iowa
who nine months later would deliver the first of many of Bastiat’s bastard children. Perhaps as he
journeyed through the camp that night he realized that even poor, dirty, smelly libtards were human
beings too. Or maybe lust and sexual desire overtook him and blinded him to the downsides of
reproducing with human scum. Either way, thus ended the adventures of Young Bastiat in Dakotaland.
