There’s an old gangster rap saying that goes, “Hate the game, not the playa.” Well, after almost 10 years of ingesting some of the most obtuse, myopic, violently self-destructive, willfully ignorant intellectual excrement ever foisted upon the American public, I’ve frankly had it up to my moderately obese hairy tuchus with the 42% of this nation’s citizenry who have proven themselves utterly incapable of understanding that liberty has never been, nor can ever be, maintained through legislation.
Democrats, and the lemmings who love them, are nothing more than petulant, infantile, ethically challenged Coward Poets. They use calculators to solve their problems and invariably fail because they cannot show their work. Further, when these textbook narcissists are called to account for their failures, they predictably attack everyone in sight who dares to suggest that perhaps, success is more often achieved through individual effort, as opposed to reliance upon the work of someone else.
In short, they’re the same kids who pissed and moaned because the straight-A student threw off the curve, itself an egalitarian con job designed to “elevate the whole.”
You’ll have to pardon me, but the virulent ignorance these people so mystifyingly hold as some perverted self-evident truth has morphed into an Orwellian cult, wherein it’s followers not only find themselves perfectly comfortable maintaining two completely opposing positions simultaneously, they gleefully fantasize about the deaths of those who would prefer to not participate in their own demise.
The only thing “progressive” about these cultural terrorists is their sociopathy. Friends of Bill W. claim “spiritual progress rather than spiritual perfection.” The “progressive,” on the other hand, claims moral perfection, and seeks to inflict their delusion upon their perceived inferiors through oppression.
The so-called “teachable moment” has become codespeak for “that which we will achieve by any means necessary.” For instance, ask a “progressive” about 9/11, or the wholesale slaughter of an Israeli family in a pizza parlor, and they’ll more than likely tell you those were “teachable moments.”
Suggest to them otherwise, and prepare to be regaled with a most delicious (albeit frightening) display of paranoid schizophrenia, culminating in your condemnation as a warmongering, xenophobic advocate of barbaric American imperialism.
A few years ago, I considered that there really is no argument to be had with hyper-partisan Democrats. This morning, I have finally realized that the proverbial goalposts have moved to such a degree that the adherents of this particular ideology have come to believe so fervently in the ultimate righteousness of their cause, any semblance of morality, legality or common sense simply must be sacrificed in pursuit of it.
Thankfully, this summer, I have an opportunity to spend 12 weeks on the road, touring with a youth organization – a drum and bugle corps – dedicated to the pursuit of excellence through the performance of music and choreography. This organization will travel the country on buses, competing against other “drum corps” (that’s pronounced “cores,” Mr. President) for the title of Drum Corps International’s World Title.
They won’t gloat when they win, nor will they scream like victimized banshees when they lose. They will simply endeavor to perform the best show they possibly can, and take immense satisfaction in having left everything they could on the field of competition. It is about as American a concept as any I have ever been involved in, and I cannot wait to be a part of it again next month when I join them on tour.
I am therefore resolved that until I return home on August 20th, I will give no more thought to the New Castrati as I would a commercial for a personal injury lawyer. These coming months will be my vacation from the left, if you will.
That is, unless they start “occupying” drum corps shows, in which case my vacation will be over, and I will be most perturbed, indeed.
Don’t make me perturbed. You wouldn’t like me when I’m perturbed.