Mommy, it HUUUUUUURTS.
It has been unseasonably cold in Washington D.C. this spring. The blossoms on the cherry tree on my front lawn had barely bloomed when a cold snap and heavy wind-driven rain scattered the petals all over my front lawn. I stepped out front to pick up a box of herbs left there to be planted when a neighbor passed by.
I don’t know him very well, but his virtue signaling was a rather good clue as to where his sympathies lay. His lawn was peppered with signs: ”Biden-Harris,” “Hate has no Home Here,” “Build Bridges not Walls,” “Refugees Welcome Here,” “Climate Action Now,” “Gun Control Now,” “Black Lives Matter,” “Defund the Police.” By their lawn signs you shall know them, I thought. Still, I was polite — waved and said, ”Hi.”
He apparently had something on his chest he just had to get rid of and approached me.
“It’s Trump’s doing!” he shouted.
Nonplussed, I simply raised my eyebrows and let him continue.
“He only pretended to run against Biden. He wanted him to win!”
“Really?” I asked.
“It’s perfectly obvious. Getting Biden and Harris elected was his diabolical way of destroying the Democratic party for decades! They and the Democratic party’s policies are so stupid, the people can’t stand them. Can’t wait to get rid of them.”
I didn’t wish to disturb this already vexed man more, so, saying nothing, I tilted my head suggesting I wanted to hear more behind his tirade.
“I can’t think of a thing Biden’s done which doesn’t make life worse for everyone. He’s losing Black and Hispanic voters and even suburban White women with this craziness. He’s paving the way for Iran to get nuclear weapons and upset the peace in the Middle East, to detriment of our allies. He’s stirring up Putin in a way that may lead to World War III. He’s thrown out so much money that inflation is soaring, and average people are finding it hard to put food on the tables and a roof over their heads.
“Crime,” he muttered. “It’s out of control. This defund the police stuff is ridiculous. Five cars were broken into on this block in the last two weeks. There was a multiple shooting in the motel where the government has been housing the homeless three blocks away the week before. I’ve never seen anything like that in this neighborhood before!” (I looked again over his shoulder. The “Gun Control Now” sign had also vanished from his lawn.)
Aww, what a shame Shitlib Neighbor has to live in the dreadful conditions created for him by his own kindred Komrades and Kommissars. Some advice foor ya, Commieboy: next time someone tries to explain the suicidal folly baked right into your ideological cake, only to wind up losing patience, closing out the whole pointless exercise by calling you an imbecile and stalking off all purple-faced looking for something to punch a hole into, maybe you should try listening for a change.
“And then there are the absolutely moronic things he and Harris say. This week he said that if we buy electric vehicles, we’ll save about $80 a month on gas. But those cars on average cost $56,000, a great deal more than conventional cars, and electricity — largely produced by fossil fuels — costs more because he’s made it more expensive by hamstringing the production of gas, coal, and oil. So even if his calculation were true, it would take decades for someone to afford to purchase an electric vehicle to achieve such savings.
Aww, too bad; things had been going so well up to that point. But when she put factual words into her clearly fictitious liberal’s mouth, Clarice well and truly screwed the pooch and ruptured her verisimilitude altogether; as we all know, liberals DON’T KNOW ANY FACTS. In fact, shitlibs deeply loathe and fear them] like the cancer, scuttling away at high speed to the nearest available Safe Space™ at the merest suggestion that a Fact™ might be skulking about in their vicinity, rushing to bar all doors and windows, turning off the lights, then hiding in a closet or under a desk until the dangerous Microagressor™ has passed. Nothing wrong with a good yarn, of course, and Feldman always was a skilled spinner of ’em. But dammit, don’t piss down my leg and tell me it’s raining, ol’ girl. You can’t kid a kidder, y’know.