You guys can’t be president because you are not wartime consiglieres. But that world exists only in your imagination, and I and the rest of us in the base are stuck here on Planet Earth. And we are the guys and gals who want to figuratively don our plate armor, sharpen our broadswords, and get some, Knight Templar-style. No, we are in a long and brutal political struggle where the stakes are our liberty, and while you want to figuratively clutch your pearls and worry about whether this is who we are, we know who we are. It’s not going to be over when we pass a few laws or overturn some terrible precedents those are necessary but far from sufficient actions. It’s time to accept reality and embrace the suck. They want us normals disarmed, disenfranchised, and, more often than you softies will admit, deceased. They think kids should be mutilated to conform to gender delusions.
Percentage rate of successful of instanity defense free#
They hate the idea of free speech, freedom of religion, the right to due process, and not killing babies three seconds before they poke their heads out. You live in a world of rules and guardrails, where the institutions are at least nominally neutral and where we all share some basic premises that provide common ground. You live in a world where there are norms. Your problem is that you live on forever in a world that no longer exists, if it ever did. And that ain’t happening until we warrior cons have broken our enemy – yeah, I used the “E” word – and exacted our payback and thereby ensured that their pain is so great that they will not dare even dream of repeating this nonsense again for a generation for fear of our righteous wrath. You would prefer a world of comity, collegiality, and unicorns.
You find that unsavory, disconcerting, unseemly. Hugworld would be pleasant, but it’s the hardcore bomb throwers who get us to that stage by pummeling our enemies into submission. You are nice guys in a time that calls for ruthless killers who want to destroy our enemies and leave them on their backs, figuratively cockroaching on the floor. And that’s your problem and the problem of Republicans like you.
If I asked you to help me move or give me a ride to the airport, you suckers would be all in because you are nice guys. If I ran short of sugar or charcoal, you’d square me away.
Oh, Tim Scott, you kind and friendly gentleman. Oh, Mike Pence, you soft, naive little man.
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