The BSSR was founded by the courageous hero, Maximillian Cheddard, who is a quarter Luddite, a quarter Phoebean, and two thirds Philistine. His world was a swirling void of confusion and dismay. The All Powerful Morons were running the world, and they were destroying it for the mere purpose of improving their flash savvy wardrobes, which Cheddard had examined at immeasurable length and found utterly lacking. Literally zero nipple tassels.
The horrible problem surrounding the fight with The Morons was most of the people on his own team were morons as well, meaning every opponent slain would shift the balance, making good Morons go bad. There seemed no bottom to the well of his misery. It was the darkest, craziest minute of the darkest hour of a man's soul. Then, after several rounds of LSD and several weeks in front of a Light-Brite, the solution became painfully clear: Backstabbing.
For every ally backstabbed some Evil Moron would give up his evil arms and pick up equally deadly holy arms, until all the morons were dead. And there's little challenge to backstabbing a moron. A seasoned vet could take down hundreds a day. The plan was without flaw, and so The BackStabbing Socialist Republic was formed, then shortened to BSSR for the chicks. With a merry bunch of jovial backstabbers under his employ, Cheddard was set to topple the machine.
The BSSR fights for what's right and for things with cheese melted on top of them. Spotting a member is simplicity for non-morons, but since so few exist they're virtually impossible to spot. If you talk on a phone at the movies, if you clap along to music, if you enjoy the comedy stylings of Carrot Top, you might feel the sharp tip of a backstabber's only real friend; namely his dagger. And you'll feel it from the direction you expected least.