Have you ever chased a slick-skinned, sixteen inch bullfrog around the kitchen while your mama's hollering, "get that frog out of my house"? Fried frog legs were a staple when I was growing up. Not the whole frog, just the back legs. Nothing better - nothing tastier, more succulent than fried frog legs. Yep, its true. Those legs would twitch and sometimes jump clean out of the pan. Always keep the lid on. The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County had nothing on these big boys once they warmed up from the ice chest.
I eventually moved up to higher ground and left those warm water denizens behind - just wanted you to know that I have real experience with those metaphors of the boiling frog syndrome that seem so apropos today. (We never boiled them back in those days. We fried everything. Boiled frog always turned out tough and stringy. It's true though, sometimes those amphibians would swim around in that pot while you turned the heat up, and they'd be cooked before they knew it.)
Well, you can take this literally, figuratively or any way you want but it doesn't change the underlying reality. Our self-ordained statist overlords and their Chekist organs have spawned hordes of commissars in their alphabet soup agencies. They are cloaked in different garb and names these days but their sociopathic actions reveal their true Stalinist lineage as political agents who enforce the will of the Party.
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