For Michele

November 2nd, 2002

I didn’t even get online much at all yesterday – far too hung over to bother with it. But even though it might be a little late (and I always, always am, it seems), I just wanted to say a couple of things about your recent travails that might turn out a mite long for your comments section.

I am up at 4:40 on Saturday morning because the neighbor’s dogs outside are barking. They seem to be looking into my garage, where I have two Harleys and about 20 grand worth of tools. There is probably some crackhead slimeball in there right now trying to decide what he can carry off to the pawn shop to exchange for five dollars so he can get himself another rock. I am going out, pistol in hand, to see what’s going on. If things are as I no more than halfway expect, there will be a lowlife bleeding all over my driveway from a new hole in his crack-head in about five minutes. This would most likely severely upset the kind of pissypants liberal ostriches who have decided they don’t like you. They would much rather I help the vermin carry my shit out to my car, hand them the keys and ten bucks for gas, and tell them I love them because it’s all Society’s FaultѢ as they drive off with my hard-earned worldly possessions. They are idiots. Fuck them in their bleeding hearts. I know I’m generalizing horribly here, but WTF.

Okay, false alarm, nobody out there. Stupid dogs. Should’ve listened to my cats, who didn’t even bother to pick their heads up off my pillow.

I would like to personally welcome you, my dear Michele, to the Realm Of Darkest Evil, where ex-lefties like you and me come via a hard right turn at the corner of Misplaced Compassion and Tolerance For Uselessness to spit upon all things Wise and Wonderful in the name of hatred, bigotry, misogyny, greed, and narrow-minded ignorance. It’s nice here – it never gets too cold, because we have stolen all the oil. We can play Wagner, the cranky fascist old Hun, on our expensive stereos built for us by slaves in Third World countries, because our electric plants never shut down due to strikes by the oppressed workers – they wouldn’t dare, they know we’d slaughter ’em wholesale and burn their corpses to heat our palatial homes and barbecue our red meat just on principle. And we can also afford to feed ourselves without waiting for Big Daddy Sam to send us a check. There’s plenty to eat too, because of the effectiveness of our environmentally-destructive factory farms – and all we had to do was kill off Oliver Douglas and every other noble family farmer to get here. We’ll live forever because of the strange chemicals we spray on the crops. And boy, do we have fun; plenty of sex, because it subjugates women (well, only if we do it right); plenty of laughs, always at the expense of those less fortunate; and how could we not just go around smiling all the time generally, since we won Life’s Lottery by sheer luck and the fact that the whole thing was rigged in our favor from the start? We have all the power, we have all the money, and we have all the guns to keep the Noble Poor from stealing it all too. Not to even mention the black malice of heart to use ’em.

And all we have to put up with to live here forever, wallowing in our greedy lack of concern for our less fortunate victims (who we will wage ruthless and deadly war on if they get out of line, for no reason other than that we want to Kill Their Children and well, we just like to), is the occasional de-linking from those love-filled and broad-minded Bravehearts who stop by our comments sections or e-mail inboxes and splutter deranged and illogical curses at us from foam-flecked lips for our unenlightened rapaciousness. Leaving fake names and e-mail addresses, of course.

If we had only had the wit to be more like them, the Great Socialist Utopia would have arrived by now, creaking and groaning along like a malfunctioning machine in an outdated factory on the vacant lot sitting next to the HQ of One World Government (you know the building – the one with all the broken windows and peeling paint). The factory would be right down the street from the place you line up for toilet paper every week before heading back to your dark, cold government-owned apartment. You never actually get the paper because they never have any; something went wrong with the latest Five-Year Plan, or so you hear. You never hear the whole story because the Blue Helmets always seem to turn up just as you’re getting to the good part, and it’s hard to hear anyway when everybody has to whisper. So you shrug and use a newspaper – it’s all they’re good for anyway and works really well since they acknowledged that much truth and started perforating them at the fold.

For those of you who don’t know, Michele at A Small Victory has been upset lately by some free-thinking friends who have decided that they don’t want to be friends with her anymore because Michele has concluded that the Oz at the end of their particular Yellow Brick Road looks a lot less like it did in the movies and a lot more like the South Bronx in August. The pot of gold at the end of the Socialist rainbow is actually a chamber pot, brimming over with rich Lefty goodness and stinking to high heaven. A decent liberal modesty requires that you convince yourself it smells like spring rain, preferably of the non-acid variety. Michele decided she didn’t want to wear nose plugs and call them Olfactory Aids anymore. Better to walk away from the slop bucket and find someplace else to hang out.

Rather than even momentarily consider the possibility that she might just be right, they prefer to jump her via sniffy web post and remove their link to her site. They have every right to do just that, of course; it’s still almost a free country, no thanks whatever to them. But Michele is a bit hurt by it, and that’s too bad. She forgot a couple of things about liberals in the course of rethinking her politics:

1. Debate is only allowed if the topic is limited to whether liberals are merely right or whether they’re Really Really Right.

2. Tolerance should be meted out only to those who might actually attempt to rob and kill us.

3. Pride in achievement is never nearly as justifiable as vacant and unearned self-esteem.

4. A Peace That Isn’t is always preferable to Violence in Self-Defense.

5. Self-Defense is not allowed.

6. Iconoclasm and nonconformity are to be employed only in railing against a world order that only ever existed on Fifties TV shows in the first place.

7. IT’S ALL OUR FAULT. Or Nixon’s, or Reagan’s, or Exxon’s.

8. Ozzy Nelson actually lusts to kill brown children.

9. There’s nothing an ethnic minority can do for itself that shouldn’t be handled by Big Nanny.

10. We are all in the Gravest Imaginable Danger, but not in the way we think we are.

Sorry you’ve been made to feel small, Michele, but hey, there are those of us who still love you. Or we would, if we were actually capable of human emotion. Michele, you’re beautiful, baby. And how did I manage to miss the damned tit shots anyway? I miss everything, dammit.

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