Our like-minded criminal co-conspirator SteveF, from our Partners In Hate over at DP, lays out a fine strategy countering all those “How to harangue your hoggish, drunken, fat, conservative relatives at Thanksgiving—because they’re stupidstupidstupid, and you’re so SMART!” articles targeted at neurotic, callow, obnoxious, ignorant, and inexplicably arrogant college kids we have to endure every damned year.
They’re sort of like the Terminator: They can’t be bargained with. They can’t be reasoned with. And they absolutely will not stop, ever.
Unlike the Terminator, progtards aren’t dangerous except in large groups or if they’re in position to ambush you from behind or to file a bogus complaint with your employer. Progtards are mostly pathetic, and they’re even more amusingly pathetic when they’re angry and self-righteous.
Herewith, a guide for dealing with the tard at the table.
And with that he’s off and running, leading to my favorite section:
Communism, Socialism, and Progressivism
Don’t miss the chance to bring up the repeated failures of socialism and its inbred kin. You can’t quite say that every progtard truly believes that socialism et al would make the world a better place, but if you did say that you’d be off by only a few. Note the comment above about getting the stupid knocked out of you — socialism and such are stupid ideas that sound like they should work, and they sure do appeal to the lazy and untalented and envious, and you don’t realize they don’t work until you’ve had the stupid knocked out of you by the real world. Students, educators, bureaucrats, and some other so-called adults who have lived their lives as hothouse flowers never quite learn that a lot of nice-sounding ideas don’t actually work.
“You know the amazing thing about socialism? It’s so good at destroying wealth that it doesn’t matter if everyone’s equal. They’re poorer than even the poor people in the oh-so-unequal capitalist countries.”
“No, I take that back. The most amazing thing about socialism and communism is the number of people they’ve killed.”
“Tell me, how many more times does socialism need to be tried before it’s ‘real’?”
“Have you ever noticed how often socialist countries have to be bailed out by capitalist countries after natural disasters? Why doesn’t it ever go the other way?”
“Socialized medicine. What a cute idea! Too bad it never works for long. Back in the 1980s, American socialists pointed at England’s national health system as the best example of how nationalized medicine would work for everyone. Then when that started to show problems, they started pointing to Canada. Canada’s socialized medicine had just started and looked good … until rationing and problems became obvious a few years later. Now anyone wanting to show an example of socialized medicine done right has to just lie about all the problems it has everywhere. But next time for sure, right?”
Lots more, including some really useful short takes in the “Keeping the poo flying” section.
Upon which I’ll seize the opportunity to wish all you fine folks out there a most joyous and bountiful Thanksgiving, just in case I forget to do it tomorrow. May all of you find yourselves with a long, long list of blessings to give thanks for, this and every year. And even if not, it’s been my habit since my blessed wife died to remind myself that we should always resist as best we can the urge to be bitter over what we’ve lost, and rather strive to be grateful for what we have. The one attitude will make for far more happiness and contentment than the other, guaranteed.
Update! Ace has one too, but I don’t think it’s as efficacious as SteveF’s is. Of course, it was originally posted way back before the Brat Left went completely loco and there remained some small hope in trying to blunt their dementia with a more gentle approach that took their crippling, destructive affliction into consideration.
Given that the progressive elder-children-yet-not-quite-adults you’ll be encountering this Thanksgiving (who I will henceforth refer to as “grownchildren”) will be armed to the teeth with Vox explainers and Obamacare propaganda, I herewith humbly submit these first sketches of a new branch of Lifemanship I call “Thankgivingmanship,” which I define as the gentle art of insulting the stupid without alerting them to the fact that they’ve been insulted at all.
It is the goal of the dedicated Thanksgivingman, then, to achieve the sublime art of giving offense without offense being taken.
My basic strategy is thus: It would be as rude of you as it is rude of your cretinous grownchildren kin to allow a Thanksgiving dinner into a stupid game of Rachel Maddow Talking Points and their rebuttals.
So, rather than confront the unemployed idiots who will be assailing you, I propose instead to superficially avoid conflict and engagement on their dummy mouthflappings, and appear instead to agree with them.
But — and here is the point — a skilled Thanksgivingman will only appear to agree with the grownchildren to feeble intellects, such as those possessed by the grownchildren themselves. Instead of disagreeing with them — which will cause argument and anger — you will instead claim to agree with them, while in fact contradicting them, subverting them, of baffling them with statements that nearly, but do not quite, make sense.
That’s all well and good, and probably would work as intended well enough. But after this past year’s numerous rank displays of irrational hatred and contempt, dumping bucket after bucket of shit over our heads and then following up with a beating at the hands of a cowardly, drooling, imbecilic mob, I can’t say I’m much interested in that kind of subtlety. I am much more inclined instead to make it immediately clear and certain that I have NO intention of taking even ONE SECOND’S worth of shit from them any longer.
I can also say, though, that the chances of any such human carbuncle blighting my family gathering tomorrow is pretty much zero, unless one somehow wanders in by mistake—an error Xher, Xhim, or Xhit will instantly be given cause to regret.
The Neutral or Nonsensical Statement Disguised as Agreement. Progressives do not process language the same way human beings do; they chiefly adduce meaning from tone and body language, like dogs.
This means that you can say many things which are either irrelevant, nonsensical, or otherwise not in agreement with the progressive subcreatures you’re temporarily amidst so long as you deliver your words with a warm smile and a lot of nodding.
You may also use uptalk to express an insincere solidarity. As with dogs and babies, progressives find artificially high-pitched vocal tones to be soothing and possibly a prelude to Walkies and Snackies.
Whenever a progressive grownchild says something stupid and ignorant, which will be always, do not engage on the merits. Progressive grownchildren will become highly emotional and agitated at the slightest show of disagreement, and may wet the floor or claw at the furniture.
Heh. That would seem to call for judicious but swift application of Aesop’s Rolled Up Newspaper Method. But being the extremist H8TR!™ that I am, I’m more attracted to the use of an electric cattle prod, a stun gun, or perhaps even one of those captive bolt guns used to deadly effect by the villain in No Country For Old Men.
Problem being, they’re kind of bulky and unwieldy—probably too inconvenient to be lugging around the table in a crowded family dining room. Oh well. This bit is funny as hell, too:
Fake Statistics. It was my old friend Boston Irish who alerted me to this ticklish little trope, when he observed that no matter how absurd the statistic you proposed to a progressive, if that statistic seemed to call attention to whatever bugaboos xhe was excited about, xhe would respond with a gushing “I know, right?!”
He demonstrated this to me at a party by interrupting a couple of liberals talking, and announcing to them:
“You know, based on current statistics, in ten years, the entire state of California will be homeless.”
“Right! I know!” came the response.
By the way, that is not schtick. That is not a joke written for this blogpost. I was really there, he really said that, that really happened.
After having secured the agreement to his obviously-crank “statistics,” he turned to me with a slightly arched eyebrow and sipped his beer in quiet triumph.
I dunno, maybe there’s something to be said for Ace’s kinder, more genteel approach after all.