Be comfy. 

Anons, all this stuff you hear about Kekistan not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of bullshit. Anons love to fight. All real anons love the sting and clash of battle. When you were kids, you all admired the the top score gamers, the fastest coders, the big-league web designers and the toughest network engineers. Anons love a winner and will not tolerate a loser fag. Anons play to win all the time. That's why Kekistanis have never lost and will never lose a war. The very thought of losing is hateful to anons. Battle is the most significant competition in which an anon can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. 

You are not all going to be BTFO'd. Only two percent of you right here today would be BTFO in a major battle. Every anon is scared in his first action. If he says he's not, he's a goddamn liar. But the real hero is the anon who fights even though he's concerned. Some anons will get over their fright in a minute under fire, some take an hour, and for some it takes days. But the real anon never lets his fear of BTFO overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate anonymity. 

All through your Qarmy career you men have bitched about what you call 'this chicken-shit drilling.' That is all for a purpose—to ensure instant attention to Q's crumbs and to create constant alertness. This must be bred into every anon. I don't give a fuck for an anon who is not always on his toes. But the drilling has made veterans of all you anons. You are ready! An anon has to be alert all the time if he expects to keep on digging, memeing, and praying. If not, some kike son-of-a-bitch will sneak up behind him and beat him to death with a sock full of lox. There are four hundred empty shill cubicles in Tel Aviv, all because one man went to sleep on the job—but they are kike cubicles, because we caught the bot operator fapping to bewbs before his officer did. 

Cont

Qarmy is a team. It lives, eats, sleeps, and fights as a team. This namefagging stuff is bullshit. The tranny loving red neck con-men who spout that stuff for InfoWars don't know any more about real information warfare than they do about fucking. And we have the best team—we have the best Covfefe and equipment, the best spirit and the best anons in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity these poor bastards we're going up against. 

All the real heroes are not storybook autists. Every single anon in the army plays a vital role. So don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. What if every meme farmer decided that he didn't like the whine of the shills and turned yellow and jumped headlong into a anime reddit? That cowardly bastard could say to himself, 'Hell, they won't miss me, just one anon in thousands.' What if every anon said that? Where in the hell would we be then? No, thank God, anons don't say that. Every anon does his job. Every anon is important. The autists are needed to supply the digs, the bakers are needed to bake the the bread for us because where we are going there isn't a hell of a lot of truth spoken. Every last damn anon in the kitchen, even the one who shitposts cat memes to keep the bread from getting to dark, has a job to do. 

Each anon must think not only of himself, but think of his buddy fighting alongside him. We don't want yellow cowards in the Qarmy. They should be killed off like flies. If not, they will go back home after the war, goddamn cowards, and breed more cowards. The brave anons will breed more brave anons. Kill off the goddamn cowards and we'll have a nation of brave anons. 

Cont

One of the bravest anons I saw during the Mossad Massacre was on a RBG dig in the midst of furious fire while we were moving toward Tel Aviv. I stopped and asked him what the hell he was doing down there. He answered, 'Digging on her medical condition, sir.' 'Isn't it a little boring down there right now?' I asked. 'Yes sir, but this goddamn dig has got to be dug.' I asked, 'Don't those kikes shitting up the bread bother you?' And he answered, 'No sir, but you sure as hell do.' Now, there was a real anon. A real man. A man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how great the odds, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty appeared at the time.  

Sure, we all want DECLAS and arrests. We want to get this war over with. But you can't win a war by concern fagging. The quickest way to get it over with is to get the bastards who started it. We want to get the hell in there and clean the goddamn thing up, and then get at those purple-pissing Rothschilds. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we go home. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Brussels. So keep moving. And when we get to Rome, I am personally going to shoot that kiddie-diddling son-of-a-bitch Pope right in the dick. 

When an anon is lying in a shill hole, if he just stays there all day, a shill will get him eventually. The hell with that. My men don't dig foxholes. Foxholes only slow up an offensive. Keep moving. We'll win this war, but we'll win it only by fighting and showing the kike that we've got more guts than they have or ever will have. We're not just going to meme the bastards, we're going to rip out their goddamned feelz and use them for lube. We're going to send those rabbinic baby cock suckers to Hell by the bushel-fucking-basket. 

I don't want any messages saying 'I'm holding my position.' We're not holding a goddamned thing. We're advancing constantly and we're not interested in holding anything except the enemy's balls. We're going to hold him by his balls and we're going to kick him in the ass; twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all the time. Our plan of operation is to advance and keep on advancing. We're going to go through the enemy like Taco Bell through an Ethiopian. 

There will be some complaints that we're pushing our people too hard. I don't give a damn about such complaints. I believe that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder we push, the more Clowns we expose. The more Clowns we expose, the fewer of our anons will be doxed. Pushing harder means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that. My anons don't surrender. I don't want to hear of any soldier under my command being captured unless he is hit. Even if you are hit, you can still fight. That's not just bullshit either.

Don't forget, you don't know I'm here at all. No word of that fact is to be mentioned in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what the hell they did with me. I'm not supposed to be commanding this army. I'm not even supposed to be on the Internets. Let the first bastards to find out be the goddamned kikes. Some day, I want them to rise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl 'Oy Vey! It's the goddamned QArmy and that son-of-a-bitch Pepe again!' 

Then there's one thing you anons will be able to say when this war is over and you get back home. Thirty years from now when you're sitting by your fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks, 'What did you do in the GreatAwakening?' You won't have to cough and say, 'Well, your granddaddy followed THOTS on Instagram.' No sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say 'Son, your granddaddy rode with the great QArmy and a son-of-a-goddamned-bitch named Pepe!' 

All right, you sons of bitches. You know how I feel. I'll be proud to lead you wonderful guys in battle anytime, anywhere. No homo.