Floyd Lee Corkins. That name should ring louder than it does.
In 2012, Corkins stormed into the Family Research Council’s Washington, D.C., offices armed and intent on mass murder. A security guard stopped him before he could carry out a massacre. He became the first person convicted of domestic terrorism in the District of Columbia.
Corkins came once. His successors will come again. … The question is what we’re prepared to do about it.
Yet you probably don’t recall him right away. Why not? Probably because the propaganda leaflets against Chick-fil-A and Christians found in his car tied back to groups like the Southern Poverty Law Center — and the press played down the obvious connection. They helped bury what Corkins meant to announce in blood: that political rhetoric backed by violence was the new normal.
I’ve long warned that when legitimate authorities fail to punish evil, someone eventually decides to take matters into his own hands. Corkins is the left’s demonic version of that. His case teaches a simple lesson: If you’re going to call conservatives Hitler, sooner or later someone will start acting on the metaphor.
That same logic drove the 2017 shooting at a congressional baseball practice, where a Bernie Sanders supporter nearly assassinated a swath of House Republicans. Rhetoric became ammunition. Talking points became bullets.
Fast-forward to 2025. The demons are autographing their shell casings. They want everyone to know exactly who wants us dead. And the corporate left-wing press winks and nods along.
Enter Jimmy Kimmel, a late-night host with fewer viewers than Glenn Beck can pull in an impromptu X Spaces session.
Kimmel should have been irrelevant years ago. But his network kept him on the air. Why? Not because he draws ratings or ad revenue — he doesn’t. He survives because of affinity advertising: the corporate and philanthropic subsidy system that props up “the right people” no matter how much red ink their shows spill. Pfizer, Disney, the Soros family — they all bankroll the propaganda they want in circulation, audience or no.
As the Joker explained while burning an enormous pile of cash, “It’s not about the money. It’s about sending a message.”
That’s why Kimmel could stand on stage and smear conservatives, even after Charlie Kirk’s assassination, and still be untouchable. His words carry the same function as Corkins’ bullets: intimidation dressed up as entertainment.
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Blaze Media Illustration
The danger isn’t just one unfunny comedian. It’s the ecosystem that shields him. Advertisers and networks subsidize the message, the media excuses it, and the extremists absorb it as permission. That’s how rhetoric becomes carnage.
We face two choices. We can enforce the law, punish violent actors and those who materially enable them, and protect the marketplace of ideas. Or we can accept the Corkins rules: a culture where calling people Hitler is step one and shooting them is step two.
The notion that we can run in place like Mike Pence, emasculating ourselves for the sake of “proper tone” or one last bow to decorum, is a funeral march. Some may find comfort in that tune, but I will not bind my children’s future to it.
Corkins came once. His successors will come again. Kimmel’s sponsors and allies want you to think this is inevitable. It isn’t. The question is what we’re prepared to do about it.
