Attribute to L. Neil Smith’s The Libertarian Enterprise

My supper last night consisted of a tall Margarita in a Bud Light glass, and a packet of Cheetos. For the first time in uncounted months, I was back at karaoke, among my long-lost friends, and rediscovering joy.

For the first time in uncounted months, I actually shook hands with my friends and could actually see their actual faces as they talked to me. The only individual wearing a mask (and crime-scene gloves) was the KJ (karaoke jockey), probably because it was imposed on him by the communist dictator of Colorado. Otherwise, everybody was happy to see everybody else. We had all finally broken out of prison and were having an unabashedly good time.

People sang “Kiss From A Rose”, “You’re The Reason Our Kids Are Ugly”. “Elvira”, “Talk Dirty To Me”, “Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart”, “North to Alaska”, and lots of other favorites. My lovely and talented daughter sang in Italian—“Con te partirò”—always a crowd-pleaser. I was back in the heart of my people, the Deplorables. The event was held at the Moose club; I am now a Moose. (I remember how pleased Karl Hess was to become an Owl.) All that was missing were Ralph Kramden, Ed Norton, and their Raccoon hats.

I didn’t sing this time, myself. Too rusty. When Paul, the ever-kindly KJ asked me if I wanted to, I promised that I would next week. I’m working up my courage to do Hoagy Carmichael’s “Stardust”, the most beautiful song in the English language, and if that works, I’ll try Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”. I’ve turned out to be would-be crooner in my old age.

As usual, assorted females danced with each other as performers of all skill-levels sang. Elderly Vietnam vets tried their damnedest to make time with middle-aged overweight ladies. Hope springs eternal, I guess. Everybody joked and sang along. True, there were no black people on this particular night—hey, it’s Loveland, Colorado, after all—but they would have been, and often are, welcomed as warmly as anybody else.

One extremely interesting feature: nobody discussed politics or the issues of the day. Nobody gave a damn. I am morally certain that more than one celebrant prudently carried a gun in his pocket, but the unspoken rule of the day is, “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” and I’d hate to be stupid enough to try to intimidate or hold that particular crowd up. Everybody was polite and well-behaved. Only one individual fell off her barstool, and it may not even have been the alcohol.

By happenstance, we were partying on the nineteenth anniversary of the murderous attack on the twin towers. I have never believed the official government explanation of that. I know too much. On the day it happened, I told my wife, “I know a controlled demolition when I see one”. Neither do I believe in the Covid-19 hoax, and I want to see its perpetrators locked in prison where they belong. It puts me in mind of Jack Kennedy’s assassination, and the fact that I never believed the official account of that, either. Once again, I know too much, in that case, about ballistics.

There are legitimate questions still hanging in the air about the Lincoln assassination, for example, about Pearl Harbor, and the death of Adolf Hitler. Just like you, I have spent my entire lifetime treading water in an ocean of lies. I am fucking sick and tired of it. If there were a real Libertarian Party left, instead of the scruffy menagerie of idiots, dodgers, and cowards that took its place, its platform would demand the death sentence for any politician, bureaucrat, or policemen convicted of lying to a member of the public—by commission or omission—for any reason. Harry Truman’s extremely unfunny Men in Black would quickly become Men in Orange for as long as we let them live on Death Row. In a genuinely democratic republic, they have no legitimate business doing what they do.

But that’s not what last night was all about. It was all about the songs we all love, and the people we love, and for the first time in uncounted months, I didn’t have to think about any of the other stuff.

Everybody deserves that, once in a while, don’t they?