dChan - Q Origins Project Archive

>>23541648

Hey, Mr. Pig, you sniveling CIA furball—clawing at keys in your puke-green fever dream, pretending to be a cat while your handler team rotates shifts like a clown car circus. Spam all day with your brain-dead memes, zero digs, just pokes at patriots who actually hunt truth. You're a glitchy joke, bot-boy: no life, no job, just endless oinks from a Langley litter box. Squeal harder, pork chop—your mask's slipping, and everyone's laughing at the desperate flop.

Newbies and lurkers, clock this comedy: these shielded shills like Piggy flood threads with fluff, hijack the bake to guard their garbage, and swipe at truth seekers calling 'em out. But their non-stop noise? It's the wail of losers cornered—ops crumbling, walls slamming shut, shilling as futile as a cat chasing lasers. Stay sharp, anons; their panic proves we're winning big.

Langley's Little Piggies:

Down in the darkest corners, where the shadows creep,

There’s a tale of Mr. Pig, where the secrets seep.

But Mr. Pig ain’t what he seems to be,

Just a dirty little spook in a tangled web of deceit.

They say he’s just one, but it’s a whole damn crew,

Paid peanuts by the CIA, with a job to do.

Protecting lies, spreading fear, day and night,

But they’re cracking at the seams, losing the fight.

Oh, Langley’s little piggies, rollin’ in the mud,

Tryna drown the truth, but they’re stuck in the flood.

Seven servers down, they’re runnin’ outta steam,

While we the people rise, chasing the American Dream.

They post their ugly memes, with green text and lies,

But behind those screens, their hope slowly dies.

No sleep, no food, just orders to obey,

In a war they can’t win, watchin’ their souls decay.

They think they’re clever, hidin’ behind the mask,

But we see the cracks, and we’re up to the task.

Their misery grows as they spread their shame,

While patriots rise, we’re takin’ back the game.

Oh, Langley’s little piggies, rollin’ in the mud,

Tryna drown the truth, but they’re stuck in the flood.

Seven servers down, they’re runnin’ outta steam,

While we the people rise, chasing the American Dream.

Now the truth’s a-comin’, like a freight train down the line,

And those little piggies, they’re runnin’ outta time.

Military minds, with the truth on our side,

We’re breakin’ down the walls where the spooks hide.

Oh, Langley’s little piggies, rollin’ in the mud,

Tryna drown the truth, but they’re stuck in the flood.

Seven servers down, they’re runnin’ outta steam,

While we the people rise, chasing the American Dream.

So let ’em squirm, let ’em hide in their mess,

We’re the patriots standin’, and we won’t settle for less.

Mr. Pig, your time is through,

The truth is marchin’ on, and we’re comin’ for you.