If you see an alligator blocking the road, there’s a simple protocol you must follow. First, stop the car. Pull over safely. Stay inside your vehicle because you’re not a trained wildlife specialist — you’re a civilian with a phone and a front-row seat to destiny. Then, do what any responsible citizen would do: call the local news. Not the cops. Not animal control. Call every TV station in the metro area and let them know a prehistoric apex predator is disrupting morning traffic like a pro-union barricade with scales. After that, start filming. Narrate. Name the gator if you want. “Look at Gerald, living his best life.” Or “Here lies Brenda, reclaiming the suburbs for the swamp.”
If you’re in Florida, this is more than common sense — it’s the law. Alligators are a protected species, and harming one can land you a $2,500 fine and up to 30 days in jail. Plus, you’ll be branded forever as “that asshole who killed the gator.” In Louisiana and South Carolina, it’s less law and more etiquette, like holding the door open or not asking someone who they voted for at Thanksgiving. You stop. You wait. You let the gator pass. In Wisconsin or Ohio? There’s no legal precedent because there aren’t supposed to be alligators on the road. But if you see one? You stop anyway. You call the local news, then your mom, then a priest — because clearly the end times are upon us and you’re lucky to witness the soft launch.
Now if you find an alligator in front of your nearest ICE facility, the rules are slightly different. You still don’t touch it. But you do film it. You do call the press. You do livestream the hell out of it. And you absolutely plant a sign next to it that reads:
“ICE cages children. This gator just wants to cross the road. Who deserves your mercy?”
Then you wait. Let the agents inside figure out which is more dangerous — the gator outside or the bad PR seeping through the walls.
But what if you don’t want to leave this up to chance? What if you want the power to create your own scaly obstruction whenever the moment calls for it? That’s where we come in.
For the committed disruptor, we offer the $199.95 Alligator Replica. Link is in the comments. Seven feet of hand-painted, resin-cast, cast-from-a-real-gator perfection. Available in Swamp Green or Bloodstain Brown, this beast is built to last and designed to disturb. This isn’t a toy. It’s a mobile monument to the reptilian resistance. Place it across a road, on a courthouse lawn, or directly in front of an ICE building, and watch society malfunction in real-time.
But maybe you’re a little short on cash, or maybe you need something lighter, something you can deflate when the feds show up. Enter our Inflatable Gator Collection. For just $24.77, you can own a six-foot inflatable gator — lightweight, realistic enough to induce panic, and easy to store between protests. Or double your impact with our two-pack of 55-inch inflatables for under $30. Small in cost, huge in chaos.
Whether solid resin or hot air, each gator is a question in physical form:
“Why is everyone slamming on the brakes for a fake alligator, but no one is stopping for the concentration camps in the swamp?”
Order today and you’ll get nothing extra — just the gator. Because that’s all you need. No tote bags. No bumper stickers. Just the cold-blooded, rubber-to-the-road, bite-sized revolution you’ve been waiting for.
When the gators block the road, the world stops.
When the gators show up at ICE facilities and court houses, the world watches.
Be the gator. Make them stop.
If you’re reading this and thinking, “Someone should do something” — congratulations. You’re someone.
We’re asking our free subscribers to do exactly that: spread the word. Share this. Forward it. Plaster it across social media like you’re slapping bumper stickers on the back of a cop car. Awareness is a weapon, and you’re holding the trigger. Every time you share our work, you’re making it harder for them to hide the swamp, the camps, the cruelty.
But if you’re ready to do more — if you want to help us put real boots on real pavement, to get gators in the streets and banners on the barricades — then become a paid subscriber or buy us a coffee. Your support helps us buy protest supplies, build disruptive art, fund creative chaos, and keep the lights on while we piss off the powerful.
Free or paid, you’re part of the fight. But if you can, go paid — because these alligators don’t buy themselves.
This post has been syndicated from Closer to the Edge, where it was published under this address.