We've not really heard much lately from our favorite discount commie ninjas, Antifa. They seem to have been keeping to themselves in mommy's basement, plotting their next move to rid the world of Trump and his "fascism."

Well, it would appear they've resurfaced in Portlandia. They decided to crash a right-wing rally for some "fash-bashing." Things didn't quite turn out the way they'd hoped. Their mothers probably feel similarly. Like this disappointment. Noodle boy picked a fight with one of the "fascists," who, by all looks of it, never skips chest day.

...And the winner by way of colossal ass-beating, this guy:

Now, just to be clear, we here at Louder with Crowder don't condone violence. Having said that, DAMN!

If only we could see the inside this Antifa ninja's mind before lights out. I imagine it's something like this: "Bashin' the fash. Bashin' the fash. Got me my baton and I'm bashin' the fash. Oh, that one's pretty big. I smite thee down in the name of Karl Marx. Hey, he grabbed my baton."

Suddenly "Only Time" by Enya plays, and, as the giant fist hurdles toward his noggin, only one thought remained:

This is the inevitable conclusion of picking fights. Eventually, you pick one, then quickly wish you hadn't. Now, Antifa dickbag's melon is one giant contusion. His sunglasses in orbit. If he hasn't learned his lesson after that colossal ass-beating, there's no hope left. His poor mother.

Leftists think they can solve all of their problems with the appropriate amount of black clothing and a billy club. Instead, they only create bigger problems for themselves. For those waiting in the ER. In this guy's case, writing "the purple Teletubby" as his preferred mental pronoun.

While we're talking violent Antifa doucheburritos:

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