September 28, 2028 London England

Forty top globalists and their ladies are having t formal seasonal ball at a fancy hotel. There are caterers. The buffet is mindboggling, and the shrimp dumplings and Catawba exquisite.

One tipsy young banker lackey brags loudly to his girlfriend,

“You have arrived, my dear. As you can see, we are God’s chosen elite.”

She gives him a retarded smile, but suddenly changes her entire look as Sigurd and eleven men clad in medieval raiment enter through the large double doors. A Shakespearian play for our entertainment?

A stodgy looking older man walks up saying,

“Look here, you have the wrong ballroom,”

Sigurd walks up briskly and skewers the man’s Adam’s apple with his dagger, then, after the man falls, crouches to wipe the blood off the dagger onto the man’s tuxedo jacket. Everyone in evening clothes gasp. Now Sigurd and he eleven other men draw their swords and within the next ninety seconds superbly decapitate every tuxedoed man in the ballroom.

There are surprisingly few screams. It seems that the women are numb with shock more than anything else. When it is clear that all the globalist men are dead, Sigurd speaks,

“Ladies, I must say that you all look revising tonight. I only wish I were seeing this exquisite female pulchritude under more congenial circumstances. Regrettably, hard times demand hard measures, but I assure you, for the longer term, all is well. Now you are free to pair up with men, not of insatiable greed, like these headless jackasses, but of a higher moral character. Please start listening to the alternative media, learn the truth about the globalist rotters, and be enriched thereby. Sorry about the mess. ladies. Good night.”