Because ALL patriots should stand up against the 34-time felon rapist president who loves commie dictators!
Dick Bulger didn’t exactly join Antifa in the normal way. There was no application, no interview, no secret handshake. He sort of just… wandered in.
It all started when Dick mistook a flyer stapled to a telephone pole for a coupon for half-price onion rings. In his Michelob-soaked brain, “ANTIFA MEETING — ALL WELCOME” looked a lot like “ANITA’S FRY RINGS — BUY ONE GET ONE.” So naturally, he showed up.
Instead of deep-fried onion rings, he found thirty people in black hoodies talking about mutual aid, anti-fascism, and organizing. Dick, wearing sweat-stained cargo shorts and a scally cap that smelled like gasoline, stumbled into the circle carrying a paper sack of raw bacon.
“Hey, uh… where’s the fryer?” he asked.
Everyone turned and stared.
The group leader sighed. “Sir, this is an Antifa chapter meeting.”
Dick looked confused. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here for the fry thing. The onion fry thing. Bulger’s always down for the resistance!”
By the end of the night, Dick somehow convinced them he was a seasoned radical. He claimed he once “liberated” breadsticks from an Olive Garden corporate fascist stronghold. He bragged about his “roast beef solidarity drive” on Revere Beach back in the ’80s, where he smoked a joint and gave half a sandwich to a guy named Tony.
The Antifa kids, against all logic, let him stick around.
Soon, Dick became their most chaotic member. While others brought banners and megaphones to rallies, Dick brought a karaoke machine powered by a car battery. His “fight songs” were just half-slurred Bon Jovi covers with the lyrics changed to “We’re halfway there, whoa-oh, smash the state!”
During marches, he’d march out of step, yelling into his CB radio:
“Breaker breaker, this is Bulger in the black bloc, requesting backup onion rings, over.”
Nobody ever knew what side he was on, but the cops couldn’t figure it out either — which made him weirdly effective. At one protest, Dick tripped over his own shoelaces and accidentally took out a line of riot shields like bowling pins.
By the end of the year, the Antifa chapter gave him a certificate that read:
“Comrade Bulger — Official Chaos Element. Do not give him matches.”
Dick hung it proudly on the dashboard of his car, right next to an empty Michelob case and a photo of Alex Jones with lipstick smeared on it.
