Howdy, folks. Are you all still warming your hands at the coals? From the latest witch that needed burning?
Let me pull up a crate, and tell you a story . . .
I’ve slowly, gradually, achingly reached the conclusion that for a committed ctrl-Leftist, there is not now, nor can there ever be, a Good Conservative. There are Nice Conservatives—who will of course be patted on the head and given table scraps, for being willfully second class human beings in the hierarchy of moral perfection—but there are no Good Conservatives.
Perfect example: Mitt Romney never got treated any better than they treated Bush before him, nor Trump after him.
I happen to think Mitt was the most genuinely decent person to run for the Presidency since Reagan, and yet Romney got called Literally Hitler just like they call all of us Literally Hitler, whenever it suits them.
The Nice Conservative is an indentured servant, polishing the silver in the ctrl-Leftist mansion. Never speaking unless spoken to. Tipping his hat. Straining to smile, and step out of the way. Whenever they tell you to shame someone, you shame them. Whenever they tell you to hate someone, you hate them. If they tell you to escort that person to the door, you not only escort him to the door, you throw thim out with vigor — and pray that the ctrl-Left Master notices.
But as soon as any of us stop being Nice, or we actually start to peel their grubby little paws off the levers of power, they freak out. It’s a four-alarm house fire. We all become Literally Hitler. For daring to stand up. The indentured servant has talked back. This is a violation of the rational order. Sacrilege.
Thus the Nice Conservative will get thrown out of the mansion and beaten with a rod, along with all the other Mean Conservatives—whenever it suits the ctrl-Leftist Master’s purposes.
Ergo, we are all Deplorable. All of us.
I used to think that if I was just patient enough, and kept my powder dry, that I could make a difference. That I could appeal to the better angels of ctrl-Leftist nature. I desperately wanted to believe that reason and good will and careful argument could win. I rallied to flags I thought reflected a similar sentiment.
Nope. We all get kicked to the curb, regardless. We all get painted with the same brush. We are all evil. All of us together. No save for the Nice Conservative. It’s Literally Hitler time.
So I no longer believe them when they tell me I have to slit somebody’s throat, to demonstrate I have standards and can be counted as a Nice Conservative. It won’t save me from their scorn, when the chips are down. They will label me Literally Hitler, and there will be a trail of bodies on my own side—people betrayed for the vain hope that the ctrl-Left respect honor.
Besides, how many throats do you see them slitting on their side? When is the last time they ever burned one of their own? To prove to us that they’re decent folk who have scruples? You have to stop and think about it. The answer doesn’t come quickly. If at all. Does it?
It seems to me that for every one of ours we’re expected to hang, there are ten of theirs being covered down for, and coddled, and protected — despite having committed far more serious infractions. Far. More. Serious.
But never mind me. I’ve grown cynical. By all means, throw another log on. Roast a marshmallow or two. Don’t worry, the smell of charred flesh washes out of your hair. Sort of.