Attribute to L. Neil Smith’s The Libertarian Enterprise

1. The Fifth of November

I thought I’d try something different this week, and as opposed to writing a short rant in a single sitting, stretch it out over a few days, to inform on myself, and the circles that I stumble through. I thought I’d do this because, like EVERY election (at least according to the talking [empty] heads of the American news services) the one coming up on Tuesday, November 6, 2018, will be the most important one in our lives.

Let’s start there. I don’t believe it. It will be as important as any other election, no more or less. What this one does have going for it, however, is that wonderful feeling that each vote against the socialist (Democrat) state is just another nail in their coffin. Which is kind of a shame. I have some pretty good acquaintances (even one friend) who self identify as Democrats, none of whom feels properly represented by the wide-eyed lunatics that pass as the living, breathing, oozing faces of their party. So then, how have we come to this? To these violent clowns in expensive suits, calling the restrained Right violent, when it is they, themselves, who are actively, intentionally inciting violence, if not participating in it? I look at it, and can only come to a few conclusions.

For the eight years preceding the last two, the far left had been at the top of the ant hill, with their leader—that would be the unquestionable-unless-your-racist Saint Barry, in case you were wondering—doing everything in their power to strip those God-given rights not guaranteed but acknowledged as already being ours in the first place from us, with smiles on their demonic-cherubic faces, all the while going out of their way to stoke racial hatreds, disrespect of those brave few in out armed forces, chipping away at the process of law, and telling us all the while that it was for our own good, because they love us. So given their feelings of plenty for the better part of a decade, Comrade, is it any wonder that they feel threatened when they don’t just see, but feel, the rug being pulled out from under them? It’s basic psychology: bullies just hate seeing someone bigger, stronger, better armed, and unwilling to take their crap stroll into the playground.

In short: they hate us. With all the fiber of their being, with every beating of their black, evil hearts, they hate us, and the more than two century old American ideal that we stand for. They hate us for looking at cut-rate, over paid athletes who would kneel during the anthem as the vermin that they are. They hate us for not looking at each violent encounter with a cop on the news and not instinctively knowing that it’s gotta be the cop’s fault, because, well, y’know: racism, I guess. They hate us. Pure and simple.

We each know about hate, even if it’s in a less solid way than the hate that these gomers feel. I do hereby confess, though without the slightest apology, to being a heterosexual, caucasian, right-wing Christian male. It’s what I am. As such, depending on what point in my life you would have asked me, I have ideas as to what, or who, I would call The Enemy. If you’d have asked me as a teenager, when I was just another pissy, gun-nut atheist, I’d have told you that the Enemy was the political Left, at that point figure-headed by “Waco Willy” (to borrow a poignant nickname)Bill Clinton, who (as is their habit) wanted nothing more than to rip the foundations from my way of life. As an equally pissy, but somewhat less hormonal, 20-something, I’d have said much the same, but added in my first boss, various family members, and women who’d broken my wittle heart. Looking down 40’s tailpipe as I am now, the list has changed a bit to the political Left and their leader Satan.

These are the wankers that I just can’t shake. The ones that are shouting at me every time I turn on the tube, check the news services, or check out my mail. I don’t see any political pamphlets for the right in my mailbox. I wonder why that is? Maybe because they’ve already gotten the rational members of society, and feel no need to scrape the sewers to change the minds of the vermin living there? But, I digress.

Two years ago, I stood in a fairly long line outside of our local voting place (a school, not that this stopped the angry Democrats in attendance from yelling swears and threatening violence to the Republicans there) wearing, as I do every election, my Vote Cthulhu: Why Choose the Lesser Evil T-shirt, just doing my civic duty. I voted, generally Republican, but wrote in None of the Above for the presidential slot. After the preceding elections, where I’d felt like a whore no matter who I’d voted for (only difference being that I could at least take a cleansing shower after voting Republican), I’d decided not to vote for either of the candidates. The looks that I’d gotten from those in attendance around that school, who’d asked me how I was voting, were priceless. I’d have gotten more friendly faces if I’d answered Hitler than what I told them. I expect more of the same tomorrow.

Because, you see, for the first time since I started voting at the age of 18, I will be voting straight Republican. Make no mistake: I still am not a fan of the Donald. As a person. He still strikes me as a slimy, New York creep. But I have surprisingly little issue with his politics. He surprised me two years ago by winning, and has continued to surprise me to this day by doing (gasp!) exactly what he said he’d do if elected. He’s kicking over anthills, shaking the trees of political lifers, and seems to be going out of his way to reaffirm the Bill of Rights as the highest law in the land, and not merely a bunch of kinda-sorta suggestions written down by some racist honkies two hundred-odd years ago.

Tomorrow I vote, for better or worse. I do not think that this will kill the Democratic party. Though I suspect that it will mobilize those mental deficients that make up the majority of its membership (especially those in high office), and as such, I will be armed and ready to repel borders, should they have the bad idea to attempt a straightforward coup, as opposed to the slow chipping away that they’ve been attempting for two years now. How will it all go? Suppose I’ll have to wait till tomorrow to see.

2. November 6: Judgment Day

The Shirt on, I packed my kids up this morning and drove the whole three minutes over to the elementary school that serves as our voting place. It was raining, like the sky itself was mourning the passing of one side or another. Or maybe it was shedding tears over the death of civility in the land. Or maybe I’m just feeling melancholy and poetic. Thank God I don’t drink anymore, or this could take a maudlin turn.

My youngest daughter asked me where we were going, and when I told her she got very excited. I wasn’t sure exactly why until her face got that sad-dissapointed-let down expression, and let me know she thought I’d said “Boating,” not “Voting.” I haven’t got the heart to tell her that disappointment is what most folks feel when discussing politics. Life will teach her that lesson all on its own, and her inner cynic will come charging to the front, making her old man look like an optimistic birdbrain.

When I voted two years back, there was a nice crowd gathered outside. Nice in size if not in manner. This year only a single Republican and Democrat braved the elements outside. Surprising, since I always assumed that water melted the Left, which is why I was always confused by their reluctance to colonize nearby planets and moons, with their comparable lack of water. Though, in complete honesty, both were fine, gentlemanly folks, neither of whom I took issue with at these brief meetings.

Inside the school, I was met by staff, each older men and women well into the second half of their century of life. Always professional, they were nevertheless cordial and helpful, making a big deal out of my children being with me, and how important it was to install the love of voting at an early age, lest we breed more voter apathy. To which I replied, “Yep.” Once in the booth, the actual voting was done with quickly—to which my oldest asked, “Is that it?”—and the three of us were given our I Voted stickers, to wear all day, volunteering how we voted to anyone who bothered to ask.

Over the past few hours I’ve looked at the news (turning into a sadist in my old age), only to see exactly what I’ve expected. Democratic victories surge, apparently, despite the fact that voting isn’t finished, or the churning idea that has taken root in my mind that the exit pollers only bother to ask the folks who look most Democratic how they voted. Amazing, y’know, how 200 % of the vote is for the Left so far, screw you very much border wall promoting, racist, sexist, Right wing wankers, you.

In truth, I doubt very much that I’ll wait up long enough to hear the results. I may be woken in the middle of the night by gunfire as the losing Left, peaceful as they are, take their loss with as much grace and decorum as I expect from them, firing off the first shots in the Civil War that they are begging for. Though I’m not too worried about that where I’m at. Even the neighbors that I’ve got who aren’t Republicans aren’t Democrats. At least I don’t think so. They do have jobs, after all.

So, then: onward toward tomorrow, when we find out the fate of the world, or some such. God be with us.

3. November 7: The Peaces, and Where They Fall

So things didn’t turn out quite like so many of us would have hoped, but it could have been much worse too. What is completely hilarious to me—in a squirmy-skin, get these vile creeps out of my face before I stomp on them kind of way—is the inevitable way in which the Left media are reacting to last night’s vote.

Without singling out any single “news” service (they know who they are, in much the same way that sexual predators do; and care about as much), I was whelmed to see headlines touting the bravery of those newly elected Democrats, who will no longer have to be afraid of The Donald or his racist ways! Afraid? Did I miss something?

It seems to me that over the past two years, I have seen little fear—unless whining and screaming and begging for armed insurgencies counts as fear—from most of the Left. Or the Right for that matter. What I have seen is a bunch of mealy mouthed psychopaths calling for civil war, before the first active words as President were out of Trump’s mouth. I saw endless cries of “He’s not my president!” (Sorry, though: because he is , regardless of how you feel about him, unless you (please God) renounce your citizenship and move to any of the places around the globe that you believe to be better than here. And if they’re so much better, don’t you owe it to your children, not to mention yourself to go there? Wouldn’t doing anything less be child abuse, if you could get them out of what you see as an intolerable, hostile situation? Or are you just running at your mouths, without a shred of integrity behind your words, you inconsistent bastards?) I have heard Party leaders telling their brainwashed followers to corner and attack those on the other side of the isle, all the while claiming that it is those same Right-leaning officials that are the ones promoting violence. Inconsistency? Hell, no: Democratic at its perpetually more Left leaning best!

In truth, I see very little change coming in the future. The Democrats in Washington will do their best to gum up the works, as they’ve gone out of their way to do over the past two years, while the Republicans will go about their business like usual, wearing helmets to protect themselves from those who see the blather of Clinton and Schumer and Waters as the handed down from on high words of Marx… er, I mean God.

So, to all of you out there in internet land, those few who are still in a proper state of mind—one might even say a Right state of mind—all I have to say in closing is this: keep your heads up, your brains on, and your powder dry. As I’ve said before, you’re citizens, not subjects. Embrace it, make it who you are, and be ready to keep the world a place where you will be proud to have your children, grandchildren, and more live and grow and embrace their own freedoms.

-Amen.