"The Spectre of Lenin Looms Large Over America's Heart-Land!"

Imagine, if you can, my dismay upon opening a recent edition of Railroad Magnates Quarterly and discovering that not only was Wisconsin still a state—a bitter reminder of my failure to have the Midwest and the South contracted into a single amorphous entity I titled “The Inter-Connected Kingdoms of Lower New Tasmania” for obvious reasons—but its capitol was infected by the most insidious of social ailments, popular demonstration.

Somehow, the degenerate and drunken progeny of poor Hessian whores and brick-layers—the soul constituency of the state in question—have managed to pull themselves out of their alcohol induced stupors and away from their fried and congealed cheese based confectionaria long enough to support some Marxist notion of “Workers’ Rights.”  Well I assure you, the only right workers have is to die of asphyxiation, lost deep inside one of my labyrinthine and wholly unprofitable crude oil mines—despite endless technical difficulties and the testimony of dozens of so-called "experts," I still maintain that if God deigned to create it, I can mine it.

In a most obscene showing, these demonstrators flock to the streets of Wisconsin unchallenged.  My great-great-grandfather, duke of the old country, worked tirelessly to win the moniker “The Scourge of the North.” If he knew that an entire weeks worth of “demonstrating” had passed without a single one of these shiftless lay-abouts brutalized or killed, the duke would be turning in his grave, had the Finns left enough of his body intact for proper burial.

Was my own response to worker dissatisfaction throughout my Colorado holdings so limp-wristed?  The local Colorado Gazette and a slew of newly minted orphans would inform you that no, I was not.

On the last occasion I had to check, the Constitution of these United States was founded on principles of disenfranchisement and slavery.  This is a country built on the infinite promise of capitalism—a land of cheap labor and even cheaper women—not some sort of Bolshevik drug commune.

I demand blood! We here at Bowen and Sons are calling for a general boycott of Wisconsin goods and services until that husk of a man unfortunate enough to reign over such a squalid and obesity ridden Hell-hole can restore order to his ignorant and fetid population and summarily execute the offending bodies.  I would gladly wring the neck of each one of the damnable communists myself.  Watching the abject terror in their eyes slowly drain to an infinite and hollow nothingness as their life extinguished in my icy grasp would no doubt bring me to full erection, but sadly, business affairs, as they often do, pull me away from such fanciful leisure pursuits.