Dedicated to my Bernie-loving friends

First, they would come for the guns.  That was obvious.

He had always expected that to happen.  He was surprised that it hadn’t happened during the Obama years–the international left-wing cabal must’ve been even craftier than he suspected.  The Trump years were a relief, although he knew the deep state never stopped working for evil.

But now, the unthinkable had happened, and that Bernie guy had won the presidency.  Goddam commie.  How was this possible?  Sure, President Trump–Trump would always be *his* President–he had made a few missteps.  The recession and the massive tent cities were bad PR.  And that incident with Angela Merkel, the one which caused a break in diplomatic relations between US and Germany–people thought that was a big deal, although who needs Germany anymore?  They should be taking better care of their local Muslims, he muttered.

So now, Barfie was President.  Brokie?  He really needed to come up with a better nickname for him.  He had a lot of fun with “Obummer” during Barack’s tenure, but he just wasn’t feeling as creative right now.

Anyway, now was not the time for fun–it was time to be vigilant.  Thank goodness he was self-employed and mostly worked from home, so he only left the house when absolutely necessary, and never unarmed.  Fox News kept him informed about the goings-on in the outside world–the Great American Crisis, as they called it.  He had started seeing black and brown kids walking around his neighborhood.  What were they up to?  Where did they come from?  Another sign of the times he was living in.

It would be gradual.  First, taxes would go higher and higher, so they could fund all those government programs.  He already had some dumb bitch at his door a few days earlier, telling him about a public health care program he could sign up for.  It would be less expensive, she said.  He slammed the door in her face.  He was no fool.

Soon, they would want everybody to stop driving.  He remembered when they built that light rail line near his house.  He had known that was trouble even back then.  If these people had their way, everyone would be riding a bicycle.  And if they couldn’t force him to bike, he would end up on some stupid train with a bunch of loud and smelly assholes who didn’t speak English half the time.

Then the final blow:  they would come for the homes.  These leftie planners didn’t like the suburbs with the big yards and parking lots.  They would take the houses and move everyone into tiny apartments in the city, so that the space could be given back to nature, or some stupid shit like that.  Not that he hated nature.  He had hunted since he was a little kid.  Animals had been created by God as a special gift for man’s enjoyment, and he appreciated that.

By the time they would take his house, the gun confiscation program would have been completed, so he would either be dead or in prison by then.  At least he hoped so.  He didn’t want to be around to see this.  Although he was planning to put up a hell of a fight before he went out, that was for sure.

Once they got all the people crammed together in the city, they would be easy to control.  Then the social engineering could really get rolling.  The only jobs available would be in government-owned factories and stores.  No freedom at all.  Going to church would be forbidden.  Women could be ordered to get abortions.  Hell, they would probably outlaw soda and fast food, and make the sheeple eat a mandatory vegan diet.  He shook his head at the thought.

The day of reckoning hadn’t come yet.  But it wouldn’t take much longer, he figured. And when it did, he would be right here waiting for it, with his television on and his gun in his hands.

 

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It was true what they said–snooping doesn’t pay off.  You get more pain than satisfaction out of it.  But I just couldn’t help myself, could I?

I sit at the breakfast table, picking at my plate of eggs and sausage.   He shuffles towards the coffee-maker, rumpled and yawning.  The man I love.  The man I know.  The man I thought I knew.

But then I remember that I’ve seen his browsing history.  The websites he went to late at night.  Those pictures of strange men.  I have to ask, even though I realize it will wreck everything.

“Honey, did…did you vote for Trump?”

He turns around and stares.  “What?”

“Don’t lie.  You’ve been reading Breitbart.”

“And you’ve been checking up on me.”  With a sudden burst of energy, he strides out of the kitchen.  “That’s an invasion of my privacy.”

“This is for your own good,”  I plead, getting up and following him.  “You’re only hurting yourself.  The first step is to admit you have a problem.”

“I don’t have a problem.  Conservatives have a right to their opinions, too, you know.”

Conservatives?  But he’s a progressive!  Or…I assumed he was a progressive, because, because…this is the twenty-first century!  Everybody’s a progressive…right?

“What about the horrible things Trump said?  About Mexicans, about…”

“Oh, come on.  The things he said weren’t racist.  He’s only getting bashed for saying them because he’s a white man.”

Oh, dear God.  Not this shit.

“You don’t really think you’re oppressed, do you?”

“I’m not sure.  I do know that everyone gets offended if I speak up about something.  Does that qualify as oppression?”

Somehow, I should have seen this coming, and yet I’m so confused.  “Okay, I promise I won’t get offended if you’re honest with me.  Why did you vote for someone like Trump?”

“Well, all you hear about him on the fake media is the bad stuff.  There are a lot of good things he’s doing.”

“Like what?”

“He drove the media insane, didn’t he?  And the mainstream politicians.  I loved the way he gave it to that one annoying guy on Twitter, what’s his name…”

“Those are not achievements!  Attacking people is not an achievement.”  I look down at the napkin I’m tearing into little pieces.  “Would you ever attack someone like that? Call them names?  I can’t imagine it.”

He shrugs and turns to the window.

I take a deep breath.  I have to hear the very worst of it.  “What about his comments about grabbing women by the pussy?  Are you okay with that?”

Exasperated sigh.  “Stupid boys talk…”

“He was talking about sexual assault!”

“Women are so sensitive.  Everything is sexual assault these days.”  He turns to face me for a moment.  “Look, I don’t want to talk about this right now.  And I’m not going to let you tell me what to think.  I’m not a fucking cuck.”  Then the bedroom door slams shut behind him.

We live in the same house.  We sleep in the same bed.  We’re a family.  How did I miss this?  What didn’t I notice?

Maybe we’re no longer really talking to each other, each of us focused on our own personal screen, posting our own version of the world.  Too busy telling our story to listen.

I want to scream at him to go fuck himself.  I want to walk away, but I can’t.  Neither one of us can make it alone.  We’ll have to find our way back to each other somehow.

Sooner or later, I’m gonna have to knock on that door.

Here I sit, the winner of my own private civil war, and what have I gained?

Bombs were thrown and insults were lobbed back and forth.  “Liberal Demoshit.”  This was a fight in the family, so relatives jumped in.  “Well, you’re a right wing piece of shit.”  The battle had to end with the final shot–the unfriending.

Granted, the guy in question is an asshole.  He has a virulent hatred of the President and the First Lady.  And he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding the fact that his hatred has a lot to do with their skin color.

It should be easy to crow over how stupid he is.  But there is no feeling of triumph after a debate with a Trump supporter.  There’s no satisfaction in having to cut off a part of my family.  There’s only an empty sensation.  I hate conflict.  I hate fighting and mudslinging.  My “uncle” hit me with a low blow, but I allowed myself to get dragged down there with him, and became just as much of an idiot as he was.

And it’s a bad sign of what’s been happening, more and more, to all of us.  We can’t be friends if we’re on the opposite sides of the political party divide.  And now it’s even difficult for members of the same party.  I bite my tongue and stay quiet about the worries I have about a potential Bernie presidency, because I don’t want more unfriendings in my life.

I get the premonition that someday we’ll be standing there, looking at the charred, smoking remnants of our homes, our family relationships, our country.  We’ll shake our heads sadly and say:  “Yeah, it all started with an online argument….”

 

First off, let me say that I tend to be pessimistic about most aspects of American politics. I was pessimistic about the chances of Obama winning re-election in 2012. And I was totally wrong about that. So, grain of salt and all that.

I’m not optimistic about Bernie Sanders.

Everyone I know on the left is super excited about Bernie. And why not? I get it. I love what he has to say too. But I’m not so sure the general American public is ready for him. The Bernie supporters that I’ve spoken to claim that it is. Perhaps they’re encouraged by Obama getting elected and then re-elected. But Obama has spent his presidency governing more like a moderate Republican, and half the country STILL believes that he is an evil Communist. So I’m a little worried about the chances of a self-proclaimed Socialist.

And I’m very worried about the chances of Scott Walker getting the Republican nomination, since that is the direction I believe the GOP is heading in. Scott Walker makes me nervous. I’m an American worker, and he’s got a legacy of either doing or trying to do awful things to the workers in his state. Keep in mind, this is the pessimist talking–I believe he could win the whole thing. I think he could easily beat Bernie, as Scott has a way of pretending that he’s a centrist during his campaigns. He will portray himself as the moderate and Bernie as the fringe candidate.

What are some of the things I fear a President Walker doing? Reclassifying overtime pay law, so that fewer jobs qualify for it. Killing the weekend and the 40 hour work week, as the Republicans in Wisconsin wanted to do. Repealing the ACA. Privatizing Medicare. I don’t buy for a second that there wouldn’t be any difference between a Hillary presidency and a Walker presidency. Yeah, most Democrats are part of the corporate system too, but none of them are going to go after the average worker in the aggressive way that Walker will.

Of course, Bernie would be perfect at addressing all these issues. Sadly, America just isn’t progressive enough for him. Maybe there’s been a deeper and faster demographic shift than I realized. Otherwise, I don’t see it.

I should add that if Bernie does become the Democratic nominee, I will definitely support him and put time and effort into working for his election. Until then, I remain cautious.

One thing is for sure–volunteering for Hillary’s local campaign should be a lot of fun. I expect to get abuse from both sides, the conservatives *and* the Bernie supporters. Bring it on! I’ve always enjoyed a good debate.

I’ve never been one to hide the fact that I find the libertarian point of view to be annoying and unrealistic. But now, there is a new kind of person which irritates me even more than libertarians: People Who Pretend To Be Libertarian.

Yep, a lot of folks out there are faking being a libertarian. Whether it’s because they’re desperate to appeal to a changing demographic, or because “libertarian” has become the latest trendy term to fling around, like pretending to be a geek. How can you tell they’re not genuine? It’s the “I’m libertarian, but” phenomenon.

“I’m a libertarian, but I’m against gay marriage.” “I’m a libertarian, but we shouldn’t legalize marijuana.” This statement is then followed by some flimsy excuse about why, even though “I’m all about liberty!”, this particular freedom shouldn’t be allowed. Well…okay. So…hate to break it to you…you’re not a libertarian. The one redeeming value of the chaotic, might-makes-right libertarian vision of society is that you’re supposed to be completely free to make your own choices about how you live your life. If you reserve that right only to the people whose preferences match yours, and do not grant others that freedom, then the entire point of this concept breaks down. If you want the country’s laws to be based on the Bible, then we’re not in a libertarian universe anymore. Mind you, you can base your personal life decisions on the Bible if you wish, but the moment you try to force that on others, you are no longer a libertarian.

No, if you want to outlaw abortion and ban gay marriage, then you’re just a same old, same old religious conservative. I get it, you want to call yourself something else, because these days, being a conservative Christian is considered kinda lame. But your disguise is see-through. If you’re really a constitutional conservative, traditional on social issues, then own that. Stand up for what you believe in. Don’t pretend to be something you’re not.

Because political labels come and go, but one thing remains the same–posers are never cool.

The man being interviewed clears his throat thoughtfully, as he ponders the really big dilemmas. Does alien life exist out there in the universe? Will we find it–or will it find us–one day?

I think the entire conversation is silly. We’ve been receiving alien transmissions for a long time. All I have to do to hear them is turn the radio dial.

“Who knows if the theory of evolution is true? And who cares? Why would you even ask anyone about it…it’s such a gotcha question!”

“Kbbhhlth…zgfffx…Women who want equal pay are angry feminazis….”

Somewhere in the darkest reaches of space, a planet is spinning wildly. Its empty canyons echo with the sounds of Joni Ernst’s manic laughter, its silence occasionally interrupted by the sobbing call of the orange-hued Boehner. It’s beaming its signals back to the reality I inhabit. Its messages are enigmatic and difficult to decipher.

“It was a good decision to go into Iraq…bleep bleep blorp…”

What in God’s name are these lifeforms trying to say? Either this is a civilization so advanced that I am unable to follow the twists and turns of its logic, or these aliens have spent such a long time breathing in their own unique atmosphere that it has driven them nuts.

The serious question is, why do I continue to spend my time intercepting their radio communications, trying to make sense of the garbled noise they broadcast? I could listen to NPR, which reports on actual Earth news as opposed to that of an alternate universe. The NPR hosts speak in measured, reasonable tones. The guests are experts in their field. They don’t scream at the people they disagree with, or break down weeping, or rave with excitement about the upcoming end of the world. So why do I change the station?

Could it be that I’m just a little bit crazy myself? Could it be that I have an attachment to my beliefs which is unreasonable, immoderate, irrational? Is it easier for me to identify with these strange creatures which lose their temper when they care too much, than with the humans who calmly explain how they feel?

Whatever the case, I will keep listening for the sounds of the insane planet, listening to it whirling in the darkness, while I sit in front of the radio and whirl around my own confused axis.

As Obama is officially turning into a lame duck President, those who live and die by the election cycle are looking towards the next great battle on the horizon. Conservative groups are already busy shaping and putting together their intelligent, thoughtful arguments for why Hillary shouldn’t be Presi….oh, wait.

Here’s Tom Miller from the anti-Hillary America Rising PAC to explain the strategy to us:

“Everyone feels like they know her, so we have to give them information they hadn’t heard about to break through….For younger voters, some of that ‘new information’ could be ’90s scandals and other aspects of their record they didn’t know about, making that material relevant, if not central, to the case against her.”

Ahhhhh…those 90s scandals. And since the millennials and the younger generation have become such a crucial part of the Democratic electorate, I’m guessing we can expect to be hearing a lot about them in the months to come. To which I say, yay! Because who isn’t feeling nostalgic for those awkward early-Internet days when Clinton conspiracy theories were getting bandied about on discussion groups like alt.fan.rush-limbaugh? And there’s so much stuff from that time that never got adequately explained. Like the angle at which Vince Foster’s gun was positioned in relation to his head. Those Whitewater files. How many people the Clintons *really* killed in Arkansas. The question of whether oral sex qualifies as sex. I’m sure a political operative somewhere has Monica’s blue dress stashed away, and is ready to drag it out at the right moment…and hey, what is Gennifer Flowers doing these days?

Add to this the chorus line of Ted Cruz, Darrell Issa and Trey Gowdy dancing to the tune of “Benghazi, Benghazi, Benghazi” and you’ve got a presidential election I’m looking forward to. Incidentally, the bottle of booze in my kitchen has cracked itself open and is insisting that I have a drink. I have no idea why that happened.

This almost makes the upcoming veto war between Obama and the Republicans seem sane. 2016 can’t come slowly enough.