Hosts and Parasites: The Unseen War Draining Minnesota’s Soul
Good morning, Minnesota. Or should I say, good morning to the hosts among us—the farmers tilling frozen soil, the teachers molding young minds, the vets scraping by on promises, and the everyday folks who wake up each day figuring out how to build, not break. You know who you are: the doers, the givers, the ones who’ve made this state a beacon of Midwestern grit and grace. But pull up a chair, because today we’re talking about the flip side—the parasites sucking the life out of our constitutional republic, one grift at a time. And like that old radio sage Paul Harvey used to say, buckle up… because now, you’re gonna hear the rest of the story.
Let’s rewind to a classroom in rural Minnesota, back when I was a wide-eyed young teacher, fresh out of my own school days and naive as a lamb in wolf country. I was pouring my heart into lesson plans, struggling with discipline, convinced that every kid just needed a fair shot and a kind word. But there was this one student—let’s leave his name in the dust where it belongs—who turned my class into a daily circus. Disruptions, backtalk, calculated chaos. I chalked it up to youthful energy, maybe a bad home life. Enter Warren, the school custodian. A solid Christian man, broom in hand, faith in his heart, he pulled me aside one afternoon with that gentle wisdom only the overlooked heroes possess. “Phil,” he said, eyes steady, “you need to understand—that young man is intentionally messing with you. He wakes up every morning, and from the first blink, all his thoughts, all his efforts, are plotting ways to torpedo you and the class.”
I brushed it off. Couldn’t wrap my head around it. Someone dedicating their every breath to exploitation? To harm? It was alien to me, a lifelong Minnesotan raised on neighborly handshakes and potluck suppers. But Warren was right. That kid wasn’t misguided; he was a parasite in training, feeding off the host—me, the class, the system—without a shred of remorse. It took time, but the scales fell from my eyes. And folks, that’s Minnesota today: a state full of good-hearted hosts, too polite or too busy to spot the bloodsuckers latched on tight.
Fast-forward to now, and that same dynamic is playing out on a grand scale, straight out of the pages of Captain James Riley’s Sufferings in Africa. Shipwrecked in 1815, Riley and his crew were enslaved by desert nomads who viewed human life as mere currency—steal, dominate, discard. No empathy, just endless scheming to exploit the vulnerable. Sound familiar? It’s the blueprint for the DFL syndicate and their nonprofit leeches, turning our Land of 10,000 Lakes into a swamp of fraud. Daycare scams vanishing millions into overseas shadows, COVID relief funds jetting to Dubai penthouses, election rigging via ballot-harvesting hustles—it’s all parasitic playbook. They wake up scheming, just like that kid in my classroom, plotting to bleed the hosts dry while gaslighting us into thinking we’re the villains for calling it out.
Take a gander at this gem floating around X lately—a video clip of some smug operator sneering into the camera: “You work for me, you white animals.” (Yeah, that’s the one from @bgatesisapyscho’s post, exemplifying the arrogance whether it’s clickbait or cold truth.) It’s the parasite’s battle cry: invert reality, demand tribute, and demean the host. In Minnesota, these takers—regardless of race, creed, or zip code—come in every flavor. Somali fraud rings? Check. Corporate cronies in the DFL’s pocket? Double check. Street-level enablers harvesting votes like illicit crops? You bet. They’re the minority—our state’s 5.8 million souls are overwhelmingly hosts, hospitable to a fault. But the parasites? They thrive on our naivety, convincing us their chaos is “normal,” their theft “progress,” their violence “justice.”
Here’s the raw truth, no sugar: the truly evil ones aren’t just feeding—they’re orchestrating. They use lies to shame you, fear to silence you, violence to enforce the grift. “Sanctuary” cities become shields for rapists and murderers; “nonprofits” morph into money-laundering machines; auto-voter registration opens the floodgates for non-citizen ballots dumped by the syndicate’s foot soldiers. And the DFL? They’re the head parasite, reveling in the rot like it’s a badge of honor. But remember Warren’s wisdom: these bloodsuckers spend every waking moment exploiting, manipulating, extorting. They’ve got us believing they’re the majority, that resistance is futile. Wrong. Hosts outnumber them tenfold. If we connect—farmers with suburbanites, vets with teachers—and stand up to say, “Dinner’s over, get off your ass and do for yourself,” their power evaporates like morning frost.
In my Navy intel days, I stared down terrorists with the same mindset—dominate or die, human cost be damned. Now, as a farmer, father, and fraud whistleblower, I’m calling it here at home. Minnesota’s not broken; it’s infested. But as a man of faith, working for the Catholic Church in the Diocese of Minneapolis and St. Paul, I cling to Christ’s call: love your neighbor, but don’t let the wolves devour the flock. Expose the darkness, protect the vulnerable, and trust that righteousness prevails.
So, hosts of Minnesota, wake up. Spot the parasites. Shine the light. If you’ve got dirt on the next Feeding Our Future heist or election scam, drop it confidentially at phillip@parrish4mn.com. Protections are ironclad, and justice? It’s coming, swift as a Midwest storm.
And now you know… the rest of the story.
— Phillip C. Parrish, Retired U.S. Navy Lt. Cmdr., Candidate for Minnesota Governor 2026
For press inquiries, email:
Phillip C. Parrish at phillip@parrish4mn.com
Campaign Manager Heidi Wanty at heidi@parrish4mn.com
Or call: 1 (612) 460-1717
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