A look at the sad, cowardly neurosis of the Masked Forever, Forever Masked poltroons.

Those among us who are perfectly healthy and remain dutifully masked despite the general lifting of mask mandates are making a political statement. For them, the masks meant something they continue to hold dear, cannot relinquish.

The masks were an important, probably the most important tool in the toolbox needed to destroy President Trump and the threat he posed to the Deep State and Democrat ruling class. For that ruling class, the masks were an evil genius deployment in a pseudo-crisis; for those who continue masking despite good health, the end of mandated masking abandons them to an unsure condition of political flux. The masks represent a kind of yoke, and to the still-masked among us, the end of masking means a return to an uneasy freedom that could lead to a vast majority of voters coming to their senses and re-electing Trump, for what many are convinced will be the second time.

But it is much more than Donald Trump they fear.

Freedom, self-reliance, limited government, and rugged individualism are values that do not rest easy on their minds. Living in a society where everyone is forced to hide behind an N95 is cocoon-like, comforting in a dysfunctional way. It signals the ultimate power of the nanny state they need to not feel adrift in a sea of American freedom.

The message sent by otherwise healthy maskers is that “we voted for Biden, we fear a return of Trump, we believe in the existential racism of the United States, we believe that a pandemic lie was justified to remove Trump and demoralize his supporters, and we think it’s better, just to be sure, that everyone continues to wear masks up until some unspecified period of time.”

And in the ultimate irony, the final proof of the grand masking spoof, as Title 42 expires, after forcing masks on the populace, the Democrat enforcers stand ready to open the immigration floodgates to an invasion of unvaccinated illegal aliens.

It is just so much bulls**t.

It is that, and always was. No matter; as Jesus said of the poor, these, ye shall always have with you. I called this thing from Day One, CF Lifers will recall: we’ll never again see a time in America with no Masked retards mincing nervously among us, as in Olden Thymes. We’re stuck with the damned things forever now—both Masks and the morons who love them, take your pick—and there’s a reason for that.

It worked, you see, the mask mandates. The fear campaign. The horrible illness that overcame an election, an economy, the psychological health of our children and grandchildren, our rugged individualist entrepreneurialism. Our freedom.

True, dat. Ellis concludes by over-optimism declaring that “The tables have turned…Unmasked America is rising up to unmask the maskers,” a spot of baseless, too-much-too-soon jingoism to which I can only respond with a question: Who, exactly, and how? The Masked feebs will only be uncovered via physical force, yanking their precious wubbies from off their sallow, pimply faces—a campaign I would certainly support, at least in theory, but which I can’t see ever getting off the ground. There’s a reason for that also, a good and reasonable one in this case. To wit: the very people most likely to be accepting of a broad, aggressive mask-off program would really rather just be left the hell alone, nothing more. As long as Masked mopes aren’t all up in OUR grills, we just aren’t terribly interested in putting ourselves all up in THEIRS.

In addition to the politics of the thing, the Mask is also a precious opportunity for some full-throttle virtue signalling, a thing no Karen in the lowing, cud-chewing herd has ever yet been known to let pass them by. Yet another angle—sheer blank stupidity,as evinced by the all-too-common muttonheads wearing their Face Wubbie over a full beard—we’ll just tiptoe quietly past for the nonce, I think.

PFunny, innit, how practically every problem confronting us today comes right back to the same old conflict, between those whose primary wish is to be left alone and those meddlesome puds for whom such forbearance just isn’t on the menu. Convince those assholes to tend to their own damned knitting and keep their noses out of our’n, and so much of all this angst and aggro goes away overnight. Unless and until we steel ourselves to doing whatever it takes to accomplish that end, however, The Mask and those contemptible tools enamored of them will remain with us.

Update! Whilst being schlepped around by my cousin and former badass Playboys drummer Mark on various cripple-maintenance errands today, he related an infuriating tale. It seems that the choir director at our church was forced out of his job by one of these Forever Masked bluenoses. Apparently, this woman was haranguing the director about not having a mask on during church, prattling witlessly on about how his selfish irresponsibility created a very real threat to her life. The director—a gentle, affable, and wholly conciliatory man who’s worked himself ragged for many years in the service of our church family—gently chided her with something along the lines of, ” MIz ____, you DO know those cloth masks do nothing, right?” Whereupon the old biddy (actually, if I’m not mistaken the woman is a few years younger than me) took it upon her obnoxious self to complain bitterly about being “intimidated” and “feeling threatened” and such-like at the next meeting of the church board. The miserable bint kept the pressure on relentlessly, until finally the director decided to pull the plug on the whole ridiculous non-troversy and resign his post, in the interest of restoring comity and calm before the bint had made things even worse for all concerned.

So, the direct result of this woman’s cowardice, ignorance, and petty vindictiveness is:

• The church has been robbed of a tireless and irreplaceable asset
• A good and decent man is out of a job he dearly loved, to which he had given of himself unstintingly for many, many years
• The church has had some mighty big shoes dumped in its lap; filling them will be no simple task
• Finding a replacement will also take a lot of time, I expect; it will be arduous, time-consuming, and will demand much of the congregants charged with getting it done—just more uneccessary cost imposed

It is unlikely in the extreme that the new director will be anything close to as diligent, as devoted, as musically talented, and as personable as the man they just lost for no good reason at all

This is exactly the sort of nonsense that can really wreck a church community, creating intra-personal rifts and a general miasma of unpleasantness and distrust, inflicting serious wounds that will be a long time healing. Ultimately, we can chalk it all up as yet another gratuitous cost extracted bythe Plandemic, one among innumerable others. This one in particular may look to outsiders like small beer when compared to the loss of one’s job, one’s life savings, one’s business, or one’s home. But neither is it nothing and should not be dismissed as such, if only because it was all so completely unwarranted. Tot up the final bill, and the Fauxvid Tyranny Test Run looks more and more like being a bona fide atrocity, a shoo-in for the title of Crime of the Century.

The homunculous Falsi and his abominable cohorts must all be made to pay for the havoc and misery they so cruelly wrought, and I mean pay goddamned dearly, too. Decades-long prison terms—in a REAL prison too, not some vacation enjoying the posh amenities of Club Fed—ought to be the least of their worries. Nobody seriously expects any such thing, of course. No, they’ll skate away clean, every man Jack of them—which might well be the greatest crime of all.