Month: September 2017

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Multi-Millionaire Defecation Nuggets on their Knees

Friends, as you know, I am a huge fan of the New England Patriots. I have been a fan of the New England Patriots for as long as I can remember. I look forward to the NFL every year as I struggle through the dark days of those other sports. I find baseball as boring as watching Al Gore speak on just about anything. The NBA lost its soul in the 90’s and are represented by the biggest snowflake of all, Lebron “My skills” James. The NHL is cool but it has been put through the snowflake filter resulting in a game of fluffy flag hockey. And the MLS is … well soccer.

I wait for the NFL all year long. I read everything I can on a weekly basis during the off-season. I even watched the CFL that one time. As an example of my level of obsession, I flew to Atlanta the Friday before the Superbowl in February for the express reason to jinx the Falcons because it had worked for the previous two years. Yup, I have that much of an issue.

Sunday afternoons during the NFL season are a time to abandon my children, ignore my friends and swear at my TV. My mother taught me that screaming at the TV is an effective way of making a difference. Oh crap! I think my mom may have been the original Antifa! The only thing I think is football. The only things I protest are bad calls against my beloved Pats (all the calls against them are bad). The only hate I have in my heart if for whatever team they are playing. And the Jets. I always hate the Jets. And Roger Goodell. But that goes without saying. I don’t think about politics. I don’t want to think about politics. I don’t want my pastor to talk about politics in church and I don’t want my team to talk about politics … ever.

And then along came Colin Kaepernick and cast a shadow over my day of beauty. Let’s examine him for a moment: He would want you to believe that, as a black man, he understands the plight of the oppressed. That poor man has been to hell and back all because of his skin is black (Pretty cool rhyme there huh?). Except he hasn’t. He was raised by an upper-middle class white family in Wisconsin before moving to California. He was always a great athlete and received all the respect and accolades that go with it. 20170924_153024No, he became a radical douche only after his career started collapsing. He, no doubt, has talent and athleticism, but like so many young QBs that lose in the Superbowl, he choked thereafter. After that loss, and the loss of a hard-ass coach that made the snowflakes cry, he fell apart. Only then did he decide to stand up for criminals who were shot by police (I’ll write about that concept at some point). The spoiled little snowflake decided that the best way to help his fellow oppressed was to kneel during the anthem and insult the very country that made his success possible. Soon he was joined by others, some of whom actually had experienced oppression but seemed to forget they live in a country where they get paid millions to play a game regardless of their color.

The press had epic multiple orgasms. Everyone forgot that Kaepernick choked as a player and could not be relied upon to help his team win. They did everything possible to keep the issue alive. When Kaepernick was not picked up by another team, they openly questioned if it had to do with his political stance. That poor man was a true martyr to his cause. Rosa Parks had nothing on him. Then the new season started and the whole thing started up again. Even 8-year-olds were taking a knee. They had no idea why, but their parents wanted to feel important.

Fast forward to this week. President Trump decided to shine his bright spotlight on the issue in a way only he could. Snowflakes everywhere had orgasmic-tantrums (a new term created by Whiggy – you are welcome). For the first time in history, the liberal moral aristocracy displayed full-throated support for …. The One Percent. Yup – they truly stand for what they believe in … this week.

Side note: I must be honest, I wish the President had not said anything in this case. As one of my very close friends stated “(the issue) was trending in a positive direction”. Very few players were kneeling. Kaepernick is sitting at home. Americans were not responding well to parents having their 8-year-olds kneel. The President brought the issue back into the brightest spotlight it has seen to date. One thing I learned in my long career working with children is that they best reaction to a tantrum is to lower your voice and speak to them so quietly that they must stop to hear you. Sometimes the best way to deal with the tantrum is to simply ignore it. You’d be surprised how well both of those tactics work. The President, while correct in his words, gave them the attention they needed to continue and even expand their little snowflake fit. The toddlers are kneeling today, not because of alleged police brutality or racism, but because they want to make a stand against Trump. Sometimes you just have to let the children scream it out. They’ll get tired, grab a bo-bo and take a nap. Back to the issue.

Today I am disappointed by the game I love to watch. The NFL owners, worried about losing money, chose the wrong side and chose it fast. Guess what billionaires? More of your customers support Trump and the American Flag than your unpatriotic spoiled brats. Then the games started. First up were the Jags and the Ravens. Many of these multi-millionaire spoiled rotten little defecation-nuggets (new term, feel free to use it to your delight) knelt during our anthem but stood during the British anthem. I wonder how quickly the President can expand on the travel-ban. I am sure they can all make their millions in Europe. Then the pre-game shows started. More millionaires paid to talk about sports throwing little tantrums. Is them afwaid them’s little friends may get them’s feewings hurt?

And then the “players show of unity” began for the 1:00 games. For those teams that stood with their arms interlocked, I say bravo. 20170924_153218Thank you for making your point while still showing respect for the flag. I am not sure what point you are making, but at least you are making it respectfully. By the way, do you know what point you are making?  For those who knelt (almost half of my own beloved team), you are a disgrace. Please take your millions and leave this country. I am sure you will all be able to find jobs in other countries with those degrees “you earned”. Then you can kneel in front of anyone you want. I am sure you can make money that way. You are replaceable. There are plenty of Americans who would work harder and appreciate the opportunity to make a fortune playing a game. For the Patriots that knelt, you are not worthy to wear the name.

“But Whiggy, this is America. We have freedom of speech. They have a right to kneel.” You are saying.

I agree. They have the right to kneel. They have the right to protest all they want. I have rights as well. I have the right to point out that they are whiny little defecation-nuggets. I have the right to turn off my TV. I have the right to boycott every company that advertises on the NFL. I have the right to organize a vagina march and burn down all NFL stadiums. Oh wait. I’m not a part of the liberal moral aristocracy, I don’t get to do that last part.

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Tantruming Toddlers and Liberals, Oh My!

Friends, when Mini-Whiggy was two years old, he was the perfect mix of angel, explorer, and pure evil demon bent upon the destruction of all those around him. He was a delightfully treacherous adventure every day. It was fascinating to watch him explore his surroundings and test his boundaries. It was challenging to observe him test the rules and his ability to manipulate the environment and people in his life. Like all toddlers his job at two years old was to begin to discover who he was as a separate person from me and Mrs. Whiggy.

Mini-Whiggy’s biggest challenge at that age was that he lacked the vocabulary to express himself and to get his needs met, as well as the behavioral repertoire to do the same. As a baby, all he had to do was cry and we would try to figure out what he needed until the crying ceased. That was simple at first. He had three needs: to be fed, to be cleaned and to be held. As he got older those needs expanded and the same simple cry would not work. So, naturally, he developed several variations of cries. He had a cry for “I am hungry”. He had one for “Change Me”. He also had ones for “Hold me”, “Play with me”, “I want a specific toy”, “I want one of my sisters” and on and on. My favorite cry, though, was “I feel like being an @sshole and watching my puppets dance”. Mrs. Whiggy says he got that from me. I cannot dispute that.

As he got older, his needs got more specific and crying was no longer an effective behavior. He developed words and found that those could get his needs met more efficiently. However, he didn’t have all the words he needed and would often become frustrated. When he got frustrated he fell back upon what had worked for him as a baby, crying. But he had learned that normal crying would not work. He had to up his game. Crying became full on tantrums. His attempts at a good tantrum were adorable. He discovered the joy of throwing toys, throwing himself on the ground and the ever heartening two-year-old-grimace-of-death. I am pretty sure he even tried to put on a vagina costume at one point until he realized how childish that was and how incredibly stupid he looked.

Being good parents, the Mrs. and I knew that the best way to end the tantrums were to make them ineffective. Being a trained psychologist also helped. As did scotch. When his tantrums didn’t work, we helped him find the words he needed. Soon he found that asking for what he wanted got his needs met and the tantrums stopped for the most part. He still tried his tantrums when he couldn’t get what he wanted and when we said no. After awhile though, those petered out as well. So far, he hasn’t tried writing placards and burning down the neighbor’s house. Fingers crossed he doesn’t. They are getting pretty annoyed whenever I do it.

This weekend, Mrs. Whiggy and I were looking through some old pictures of Mini-Whiggy as a toddler and reminiscing about those delightful days. As we were drinking our way through our PTSD the news showed coverage of the most recent “we didn’t get what we want” protests in St. Louis. Then it dawned on me … Liberals are toddlers! They display the same behaviors and a very similar smell.

When Mini-Whiggy didn’t get the food he liked, he threw it on the floor and started screaming. When liberals didn’t get the election results they wanted, they threw away the results and screamed “he is not my president”.  When Mini-Whiggy didn’t get the toy he wanted, he tried to break the toy he had and everything else around him. When the liberals didn’t get the election results overthrown, they trashed banks and cars and whatever else was in their way. When Mini-Whiggy thought something was unfair, he yelled and screamed. When liberals think something is unfair, like oh I don’t know, a court case, they take to the streets, burn buildings and attack police. Seems like toddler behavior to me. However, they aren’t quite as cute.

Although, there is a flaw in my theory. Mini-Whiggy was smart enough to realize that tantrums do not work. They never have, nor will they ever be an effective way of getting what he wants.  Instead, he has learned truly mature skills like cogent arguments based on 7-year-old logic, cuteness manipulation, divide and conquer (his parents) and the ever-effective keeping asking until you say yes or threaten me with being sold into slavery. In short, Mini-Whiggy has learned the skills all adults need to survive. Liberals have not yet learned those skills. They keep tantruming (I get to make up words) and expecting it will somehow work.

Luckily, just like toddlers they have the attention span of brain-injured jelly-fish. Do you remember the occupy movement? They don’t. They saw something shiny among their filth of their blanket forts, got distracted and moved onto another toy. Do you remember what the Black Lives Matter
“movement” was supposed to stand for? Neither do they. They were so fascinated by the fires they lit that they looted some marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate and started making smores. When the fires went out, they moved onto the next thing. Remember the Million Vagina March? They do too, they just can’t remember what it was about except for how cool it was to play dress-up and go for a long walk with mommy and vagina-daddy. Remember when they liked destroying giant historical action figures because they were upset by them? Apparently, they lost interest when they realized that they had to clean-up their mess or be sent to bed early …in a cage. I wonder what the next tantrum will be about? Because we all know there will be more until we somehow teach them that such behavior is not ok for big boys and girls … and all other 87 gender choices.

Do not fret, my friends: Having raised three children through toddlerhood and having taught numerous parenting classes, I believe I have a solution. Let’s gather the liberals together, put them in a pull-up, give them a binky and a blanky, sing them a lullaby and tuck them in with their favorite stuffy until they grow the F up.

 

(Remember to subscribe! Look its right there …to your right. Go ahead. It wont hurt …much.)

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Chuck and Nancy Topless with Liverwurst

Friends, from time to time Mrs. Whiggy asks me to do projects around the house.  Like all good lazy men, I agree to do as she asks and I show support for her ideas. I simply never specify when I’m going to do what she asks. Often, I need to gather more information, procure supplies and get more people to help. Now, I am not saying that I lie per se. I just use standard delay tactics emblematic of my gender. Uh oh, I think that makes me sexist. Hold on, I need to ask someone … OK, I am back. Apparently, I am not sexist because all negative stereotypes of men are acceptable. Whew, that was close. Where was I? That right, Mrs. Whiggy’s requests.

Well, Mrs. Whiggy is much smarter than am I. When she wants something done, it will get done. Earlier this summer I was very busy contemplating a project request by sitting on the deck with a nice scotch and a cigar. Onto the deck walks Giancarlo, the “handyman” Mrs. Wiggy hired to get that railing fixed. So that you get the full picture, let me describe Giancarlo to you. Firstly, he appears to be allergic to shirts. I have never scene him wear one. Congress has a higher approval level than Giancarlo has body fat. He has an annoyingly perfect tan. Mrs. Whiggy literally ironed my dress shirts on his stomach. Now my shirts smell of him … and the Mrs. requests I wear them everywhere! I mean seriously, you don’t run on the treadmill in a dress shirt! And don’t even ask me about his accent! I am pretty sure its not real. Even the dogs look at him longingly when he speaks to them.

The first time he came over to fix the railing I was annoyed. I was supposed to do things around the house. It is my house damn it! The next few times went too far. I was suspicious when Mrs. Whiggy started to watch him work, but I thought it went too far when she invited her friends over …and sold tickets … and asked me to make appetizers! Soon she started making plans with him for small fixes throughout the house. Then she started designing renovations and additions. Its when they designed a garage that I put a stop to it! I mean, no garage needs a knitting room!

I know what you are thinking “So, Whiggy, what did you do to stop it? Did you confront this Italian tool? Did you lay down the law?”

Well my friends, I am brilliant. Whiggy will always win! The solution was simple enough. I just started doing the projects by myself as soon as I was asked. Sometimes I even did them on my own without being asked! Whiggy shoots and scores! Finally, stuff is getting done around the house and Giancarlo is gone! Now if I can just get Mrs. Whiggy to remove his picture from her bedside table.

“So, Whiggy, you tell fabulous stories, but why did you tell us this one?”

Well, my friends. It’s because I think President Trump has learned a thing from Mrs. Whiggy. The Republican party, in which I claimed membership for more than 25 years have been telling us all since the Obamination took office that they would get rid of Obamacare, secure our borders and cut taxes if ever they were in charge of all three branches of government. Well, guess what? They have been in charge since January and have accomplished approximately nothing except try to avoid looking to be too close to the president. The petty little factions of the GOP have been sitting around sipping scotch and smoking cigars on their own figurative decks. The President has asked them to put together legislation that he could sign …. Nothing. The spineless imps who all signed legislation when they knew President Obama would veto it have now been running for cover under the guise of it not being EXACTLY what they want. I used the same excuse with Mrs. Whiggy. “I don’t know exactly what I want the basement to look like when its done, so I can’t do anything yet.” Like Mrs. Whiggy, Trump has brought in his own version of Giancarlo in the form of Chuck and Nancy. Lets just hope neither of them take off their shirts!

Its funny how quickly the Republicans, led by Paul Ryan and his vapor thin convictions, suddenly appeared behind every podium and in front of every camera to discuss how willing they are to work to get something done. Three leaders from each party joined the President for dinner. I doubt much was accomplished since, not long after, he invited Chuck and Nancy over for Chinese food (racists!) by themselves. The rumors from that were that they had all agreed on a deal about DACA. Uh Oh! Now the Republicans are afraid that President Trump will sell-out completely. While I doubt that will happen, he is a master negotiator after all, perhaps it will get the Republicans to get off their @sses, work together and actually get something done closer to what they want and not what the minority wants.

Here’s the deal: Like Mrs. Whiggy, President Trump wants to get something done. Period. He may not get exactly what he wants or exactly what he thought he could promise, but it will be something and that something will still be better than what Obama left. He understands that he cannot get precisely what he wants. He literally wrote the book on making deals. The toddler-like republicans fighting over how they want their Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches prepared haven’t figured that out yet. If they don’t soon they are about to be served liverwurst served by a topless Chuck and Nancy. No one wants to see that!

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Mini-Whiggy Questions DACA

Mini-Whiggy came home yesterday with a question:

“Dada, what is daka, or deca or dacow?” he queried.

I smiled at his innocence, patted him on the head and started to explain.

“Well, Mini-Whiggy Dachau was a place during World War II where Hitler sent people to be killed because he was an evil man. But you mean DACA. Although, lots of crazy people want to pretend they are the same thing.”

“You mean liberals?” he asked. God, I love that kid!

“Yes buddy, liberals. DACA is kinda hard to explain though. I am not sure you’ll understand.”

“Dada, I am pretty smart. I taught you and Mama how to use Minecraft.”

“Good point. Ok. So, you know that our government has three parts that we call branches. They each have their own chores. The Legislative Branch is made up of the House and the Senate. Their chore is to make laws. The Executive Branch is made up of the President, the Vice President and a bunch of people who work for the President. Their chore is to carryout laws. They make up the rules for how to make people follow the laws. Then there is the Judicial branch.  It is made up of the Supreme Court and a bunch of other judges. Their chore is to interpret laws and …”

Branches_US_gov“Ummm. I know all this already. Remember you used to read me the constitution every night when I was three?” he interrupted.

“I am sorry Buddy,” I apologized, “Sometimes I forget that, even though you are only seven, you are smarter than a lot of people”

“You mean liberals?”

“Yes buddy. So, back to DACA. A long time ago Congress passed laws about how people are allowed to move to the United States. They made a bunch of rules that people had to follow. If they followed those rules, they could come to the United States and someday become Americans.” I explained. “Then, our last President …”

“You mean Obama?”

“Yes …” I replied.

“Remember that time when people said he could be President again and you cried, and drank lots of your adult juice and told me all about how some people could fit their heads in their butts? That was funny.” He added giggling.

“Yes. Yes, I do remember that. But let me explain more” I said, “So, Obama decided that he didn’t like parts of the law. Then he told the people who work for him to make new rules that would ignore part of the law for a little while.”

“Why did he do that Dada?” He asked.

“Well, for a few reasons.” I began to explain “First, Obama liked to make everything about what color people were because it helped him get lots of votes. It also got lots of people who think like him lots of votes too.”

“You mean puppets?” Damn, this kid is awesome!

“Yes. But they like to call themselves Democrats or even Progressives…”

“You mean like Flo on TV? She is funny.”

“No. That’s a different Progressive. So anyway, there was an election coming and Obama wanted to help more people who think like him get elected. By ignoring parts of the law, he thought he could make lots of people happy and they would vote for his friends. Second, even though he pretended to be a teacher of the Constitution, didn’t really understand it. He thought the President was a king and could do whatever he wanted. Third, Obama hated America the way it was. He wanted to make a new America.”

“What kind of America did he want?” He asked with rapt attention.

“Oh buddy,” I explained with the care and compassion only a dad can know, “You are not old enough for that part of the story. It is very scary and you need to be able to sleep tonight.”

“OK, Dada.” He conceded “So why is everyone so mad now about DACA. Teacher was crying in school.”

“Well Mini-Whiggy, yesterday President Trump …”

“Remember when people made him president and you laughed and laughed so hard that you peed? That was funny and gross.” He reminded me.

“Yes, it was.” I started my explanation again. “Yesterday President Trump told the people who worked for him that they have to follow the law. Because some people don’t like the law, he gave Congress six months to make a new law if they want to.”

“Wow!” He exclaimed “Six months is a long time. In six months, I will be 8 years-old and the Patriots will have another Superbowl Trophy.”

“That’s very true! But, Congress spends so much time stealing money from people and calling the President names that getting anything done in six months may be impossible.”

“So” He began to summarize, “Congress made a law that people are supposed to listen to. President Obama didn’t like the law so he ignored parts of it. Then President Trump told people they have to follow the law or make a new one. Now lots of people are mad that they have to follow a law that they were supposed to follow anyway?”

“Yup.” I agreed. See the seven year old gets it!

“That’s stupid.” He stated plainly with the wisdom of Socrates.

“Yes, it is Little Man. Yes, it is.”

“Dada, I have one more question. Why are you calling me Mini-Whiggy?”

“Because this is a blog. Its not a real conversation. It’s make believe.”

“Oh” he said, “Like liberal tolerance?”

“Yes buddy. Exactly like liberal tolerance.” I have the greatest kid in the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Whiggy Immigrates

My friends, this may come as a surprise to you, but sometimes Whiggy’s rapier wit and undeniable charm can get him in trouble with Mrs. Whiggy. I know! I too am always shocked when it happens … every day. There was an incident not long ago that I believe has some relevance to today’s political discourse.

Rick McKee / Augusta ChronicleEvery now and then I find it necessary to improve my understanding of other people by walking a mile in their shoes. Not literally. I’m not allowed to do that anymore. People get very upset when you take their shoes. Especially when they don’t know you. And then you do it while they are walking, in public …in the winter…but that’s another story. How can I possibly understand how other think unless I have lived their lives? So, occasionally I find it necessary to do a little immersive method-acting experimentation.

Right after the Million Vagina March I started pondering Antifa. What made them tick? What went through their mind? (that was not a typo – they share a single brain) I decided to find out by becoming Antifa in my house. Mrs. Wiggy was not impressed. I might have gone too far when I lit fire to the couch and spray painted the cat for wearing fur. She totally over reacted and invited me to emigrate.

I had to leave my home land to avoid her oppressive laws that denied me my right to express myself with words …and paint … and a little fire. There I was standing with all my possessions, Mini-Whiggy and my painted cat. I decided to immigrate to my neighbor’s house.  I knew he would be understanding. He was a lesbian who identified as a straight man who dressed as woman. He was also a college professor who taught very popular classes: History, Facts and other Malleable things; and The Industrial Revolution: You Didn’t Build that, Obama Did; and his most popular class Tolerance is for Other People. So, at the risk of my life, I hopped his fence and trudged all forty-five feet to his house. Inexplicably his door was locked. Luckily his windows were not.

The real problems started the next morning. His alarm clock went off and he rolled right over on me! Luckily, the night before, his life-mate whose identification was quite flexible, was deflated in his closet so I could climb right into bed. Quite annoyed at being woken up, I yelled at him to get out of my personal space. Immediately he started peppering me with questions and accusations!

“Why are you in my bed?” he asked rather tersely.

“Umm, because my son has the guestroom and the cat took the couch. Where else was I supposed to sleep?”

“No, why are you even in my house? You are breaking and entering. Get out!”

I was astonished at his complete lack of hospitality. He was constantly posting on social media about all the guests he had at his house for dinners, drinks and flag burnings. I pointed this out to him.

“They were invited or they asked to come over! They had my permission to be in my house!” He retorted rather rudely.

“So now you have to be invited or ask to move into someone’s house? That’s rather fascist. What are you, a racist?” I inquired with the curiosity of Tucker Carlson.

“How am I racist? You are white!”

“Whoa whoa there sister-brother! I am identifying as a Jewish African-American who is identifying as a Muslim Asian. Don’t you put your racist white privilege voodoo on me!”

From there things just went downhill. Arguments were made. Threats were thrown. Names were called. I am pretty sure he called me a sour kumquat at one point. Eventually things calmed down and he went to work. He said something about “be out before I get home, or I’ll call the police”. I knew he was only kidding and he would definitely want me to stay when he realized I would do things around the house that no one wanted to do.

That first day was a busy one. My son and I redecorated the house. Mini-Whiggy is an excellent artist with spray paint for a seven-year-old. We also replaced all the pictures of his parents with pictures of us and our cat (before he was painted – I still feel a little bad about that). I mean, seriously, they were dead. Why did he need pictures of them? We changed the message on his answering machine to both include us and our preferred gibberish language that Mini-Whiggy and I made up when he was three years old. Just because we were in his home doesn’t mean we should change our language. I figured I would teach him our language and make him use it at home. It really was the only fair thing.

He was exceptionally livid when he returned home. Apparently, he did not appreciate the changes we made to “his” home. I reminded him that it was “our” home and that I was sick of being taken for granted. He had the nerve, at that point, to call the police as if there was some sort of law about immigrating to someone else’s house without permission.

“Just calm down,” I pleaded “we can all live together in harmony. You should just put aside your racist elitist views. Now, where is my ATM card for your bank account?”

“Are you crazy? I’m not giving you my money! One, you aren’t even supposed to be here. Two, you haven’t earned it!”

Well, I had heard just about enough of his Nazi propaganda!

“Maybe you don’t know this, but this is a free country! What is your definition of free? To me free means … well free! It means I don’t have to pay for things!”

“That’s not …” He was interrupted before he could continue his sexist anti-Semitic rant by the arrival of the Stasi.

The whole thing was unfair from the start. He explained his fascist views of ownership and “private property” to the police. Then told me I would have to leave or be arrested and thrown into the gulag. Apparently, there are “laws” that people are supposed to follow regarding personal property. Pfft!

“Oh, you just hold on right there! I brought my young son and my rainbow cat with me. This is their home now. He has always dreamed of having a home in which he could practice his campfire skills. You wouldn’t ruin that dream, would you? You wouldn’t kick those little dreamers out, would you? You wouldn’t want to separate our family? That’s just heartless. What, are you Nazi sympathizers?”

The police officer looked at him and said, “I got nothin’”

Right about then, Mrs. Whiggy showed up with the special “Bail Credit Card” and told me I had to go home. I told her that I couldn’t possibly leave my new adopted home and that I would send her money soon.

“And anyway,” I said “Mini-Whiggy has made his home here. No one can make us leave.”

“Honey,” she responded, “Trump is going to make it so we can’t do that anymore.”

“He is going to what? Time to riot!”

 

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A letter to the Moral Aristocracy

Dear Moral Aristocracy,

I would like to start with a heartfelt thank you. If it were not for you, the United States may now be suffering under the imperial rule of Hillary Clinton. Thank you for ensuring that tragedy did not happen. Confused? I’ll explain. If it weren’t for your decades of telling everyone how to live, what to eat, what not to eat, what words to use, what words not to use, how to raise our children, what games our children can play, what humor is acceptable and on and on there would not have been the groundswell of anger that lead to the Trump presidency.

You started innocently enough with trying to cleanse certain words from our language that most would agree are offensive. Then you went a little farther with moronically trying to change words we’ve used for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Freshman became first year student. Woman became womyn. Moron became liberal. You get the idea. In all your historical ignorance, you decided to call it Politically Correct. The not so subtle message being that, if anyone dared say something that did not fit your ever-changing mold, that person would be “incorrect”. I long for the innocent days when I was only incorrect. Now anyone who strays from the party line is a Nazi, evil, the antichrist or any other number of historically inaccurate comparisons.

Yocommunismu have now graduated on to full on Communist social engineering. “You are doing the same thing by calling us Communists” you are thinking together with your collective Borg-like hivemind.

I agree, with one minor exception. My depiction actually fits the historical record. Do you know from where the term “political correct” derives? Of course you don’t, MSNBC and CNN hasn’t told you yet. It comes from 1930’s Soviet Union.  People understood there were two “realities” at the time. There was what actually was happening and what the communist government wanted people to believe. Therefore, there was what was correct and what was politically correct. Sounds a lot like today. There is what happens in the world and there is what you and your media wants everyone to think is happening. Like the soviet communists, you too want to engineer a social hegemony where you set the rules for everyone’s behavior.

You were doing well for quite a while there too. You controlled congress for 40 some odd years. You developed social programs that drove people to become reliant on the government for their very survival. More people rely on the government now than at any time in our history. Not long after, you gained intellectual control of our education system. Around the same time, you gained intellectual control over the media.

Enough of us started catching on that you could no longer rely on control of congress. Your domination started to wane. Ronald Reagan showed there was a way to be successful without sucking on the teat of government. Suddenly people didn’t need the government. Your response? Full on political correctness. Perhaps you could not completely control government anymore but you could continue to manipulate how people thought and behaved through the media, Hollywood and professorial dictates. Colleges taught us politically correct from wrong and the media covered only what fit your picture of the world. You were making tremendous progress. Once again political and intellectual hegemony were in sight. Then you reached your pinnacle. Your great savior the Obamination was elected in a frenzy of blind political correctness. You and he had control of congress again. You passed the second largest piece of citizen control legislation. Now you control the very health care system that people relied on to survive. Certainly nothing could stop you. But there was a slight wrinkle that you didn’t see in all your historical ignorance.

You see, non-liberals have this annoying thing called free will. I understand that you are unfamiliar with the concept but freewill allows us to think for ourselves and make our own decisions. We get ever so slightly annoyed when you try to assimilate us into your Borg-like mindshare cult. We are big boys and girls (notice the mention of only two genders). We like thinking for ourselves. Sure, it’s a more difficult way of living than yours. Thinking can be hard. You should try it. I bet, that if your tried really hard and practiced for a few years you would like it. Like the citizens of almost every communist government in history, we fought back. Had you not ignored history, you would have seen it coming.

In the years since the Obamination’s coronation we won quite a few skirmishes. We took back the House, the Senate, most of the governor seats and the majority of state governments. The news organization that was most watched is one that is not part of your hive. The most listened to talk radio hosts have not been assimilated. Through all this you did not learn. You didn’t notice the signs because you chose only to see what you want to see.

You put everything into the 2016 election.  Certainly, we would all conform by crowning Hillary Clinton. Undoubtedly your hegemony would be established at last and would be the 1000-year Reich.  After all, you are politically correct.

But then Donald Trump happened. He represented all that you are not. No, openly opposed all that stand for. He was not only politically incorrect, but he flaunted it. He openly called out your attempts at social domination. While you still spoke of the hive he spoke of the needs and desires of the individual worker bee. While you told everyone how they should think and behave, he showed them that they could behave anyway they liked. In short, he took your social engineering playbook and bitch-slapped you with it and then lit it on fire. On November 8th Trump led us to our biggest battle victory of this war for control of the populace you started decades ago. The game had changed. The rules had changed.

And what was your response? Did you learn from your mistakes? Did you realize that you had to scale back your goal of a great American communist state? Nope. You brought doubling down to a whole new level. You threw tantrums like 2-year olds who needed their binkies. You went from the paragons of political correct behaviors to common rioting thugs. You went from trying to legislate historical revisionism to literally demolishing history. As your movement is in its death throes you have become the despots that originally defined your movement. When people won’t assimilate, intimidate.

But keep it up. The more you tantrum, the more our numbers grow. Every time one of you sheds crocodile tears, another patriot is born. Every time you destroy a piece of American history, another patriot is born. Every time you don an oh so appropriate vagina hat, another patriot is born. Every time you call for the impeachment of the President, another patriot is born. Every time you call people with whom you disagree a Nazi, another patriot is born. Every time you burn an American city because you don’t get what you want, another patriot is born.

So, go ahead, keep fighting. Just remember, there are more of us and while you have been eating your gluten-free snowflake vegan hope nuggets in your safe spaces we have been working, learning and preparing for victory.

With any DUE respect,

 

Whiggy