Disillusioned /pol/tards will look to /bant/ for shelter that provides solace and comfort in their vulnerable moment of defeat, and they will find said shelter broken down and burned to the ground. All the cross-posters from all the boards that had to deal with /bant/'s shit for the past month and a half will descend from the heavens and rain mockery down. Not a single inch of this board will escape being torn apart. And then the flood comes, formed from the tears of laughter above and the tears of impotent crying from below, and all the dust, blood and ashes will be scattered and washed away while the /pol/scum is left no choice but to drown in the hole they dug themselves into. As the gigantic hubris they were architects of turns on them, they will finally realize the purpose of their existence: To be the perfect punchline of the greatest joke in mankind.