Mehdi Hasan vs. the Fascist Footnotes: A Clinic in Rhetorical Exorcism

🧠🔥 There are few certainties left in this malfunctioning simulation we call Earth, but here’s one: if you lock Mehdi Hasan in a room with twenty MAGA mutants, you’ll need a mop, a fire extinguisher, and a licensed exorcist when he’s done. Jubilee’s Surrounded didn’t just prove this—it canonized it. Hasan walked into that arena with nothing but a pen, a spine, and the righteous fury of someone who’s read actual books, and left carrying the intellectual scalps of everyone who mistook their uncle’s Facebook rant for political theory. He didn’t debate. He performed precision rhetorical surgery on living propaganda.

Full video here! —> https://youtu.be/2S-WJN3L5eo?si=eMPBzQagz8cZ_Aa7

Let’s be clear: this wasn’t a conversation. It was a controlled demolition. Mehdi didn’t dismantle their arguments. He vivisected them, then held up the twitching remains and asked, calmly, “Is this your king?” While they clutched their dog whistles and muttered about “patriotism,” he delivered full-length dissertations on history, law, ethics, and what happens when you confuse privilege with persecution. And the rest of us? We watched in awe as a man went full Oxford Comma Death Ray on a lineup of walking Reddit threads.

Enter Connor. The sentient boiled potato in a $6 novelty tee who looked directly into the camera and casually announced, “Yeah, I’m a fascist.” Not in the oops-my-bad accidental way, but with the glee of someone who thinks the Third Reich just needed better branding. When Mehdi pushed back, Connor responded with the smug giggle of a man who thinks being called a Nazi is somehow punk rock, instead of, you know, disqualifying from human decency.

His reward? Unemployment. And a GoFundMe on some Christian crowdfunding site where he raked in nearly twenty grand from equally broken souls. That’s right—Connor monetized his idiocy. Turns out, if you wave the fascist flag proudly enough, there’s a lucrative market in America’s darkest corners. And racists? Oh, they’ll tip. They always tip. Especially if it helps keep their delusions fed and their enemies triggered.

Connor’s meltdown came with the expected sob story. But the violin required to accompany his whining is so cosmically small, it would need to be forged in the heart of a collapsing neutron star. A bow made of rejected Proud Boy mustache hair. A bridge crafted from the charred remains of banned CRT books. This isn’t just a man without shame—it’s a man who thinks his lack of shame is a feature, not a bug.

We could gather every nanotech researcher from MIT to CERN and task them with building a violin microscopic enough to score Connor’s pity parade—and still, it would be too majestic for the occasion. Some grievances deserve a soundtrack. This one deserves a dial tone.

Now let’s talk about the donors. You sad, sputtering avatars of terminal brain-rot. You Venmo’d a self-declared fascist for losing a job he admitted he deserved. And not because he showed growth, or remorse, or a shred of humanity—but because he made you feel seen in your own failure. That’s what fascism trades in: broken men convincing other broken men that their brokenness is sacred.

What you funded wasn’t free speech. It was a pity party in jackboots. You didn’t preserve liberty—you subsidized mediocrity in service of hate. And in fifty years, when your grandkids dig through your digital archives, I hope they find that donation receipt, frame it, and hang it in the Hall of Regret.

Science has limits. But Connor’s ego? Limitless. He truly believes he’s the protagonist in a freedom saga—when in reality, he’s the NPC who gets bodied in Act I so the real story can start. Nanotech can’t help you, buddy. NASA doesn’t build probes for this level of self-delusion. You didn’t get canceled. You got correctly identified—and publicly rejected.

In the end, Mehdi Hasan didn’t just win a debate—he conducted an exorcism of idiocy. He exposed every bad-faith talking point, torched every ahistorical claim, and made it painfully clear: this isn’t about “both sides.” This is about whether truth still matters. And watching him obliterate a room full of indoctrinated parrots was the kind of catharsis democracy rarely delivers these days.

As for Connor? He’ll keep livestreaming from his childhood bedroom, hoping someone still cares. But out here in reality, Mehdi just gave us a blueprint for pushing back. And it starts with not mistaking loud for smart, or victimhood for virtue.

🗽🕊️ I do this between daycare runs, graveyard shifts, and the daily tightrope of just getting by. But I can only keep going if this work helps me stay afloat. If it means something to you, please consider subscribing or tossing a few bucks in the tip jar below. To those who’ve already helped—thank you. To those who read and share—I see you, and I’m grateful. I don’t want to scale back or vanish into another job just to survive. But without support, that’s where I’m headed. And I’d rather keep fighting. With you.

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🙏 If this found its mark, maybe it’s because some truths don’t just sting—they stitch us back together. I write to name the fractures and remind us we’re not alone in feeling them. They want us isolated, overwhelmed, silent. But here, we gather our voices. We connect the pain, the purpose, the pattern. If you’re here, you’re part of something stronger than despair. Stay rooted. Stay human. Stay loud.

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