Man vs Machine

 

Protesters at “No Kings” events in Culpeper, Virginia,  and San Francisco, California, have been struck by motorists, according to local news reports.

 

Organized so called “Protests” have been around forever. As a rule they are not focused enough to actually address any real issues or change anything, usually just a lot of noise to disrupt the normal concourse of the lives of citizens. No Kings is just such a thing.

Not long ago some reporter called President Trump a king. This is not a new thing. Washington had it, Lincoln too. They even called Lincoln a baboon because of his big ears. Well, some bunch of cherry pickers decided to organize a nationwide “demonstration” to dethrone King Trump. Well, Trump is not Henry VIII, else he would have boiled them in oil. But! It seems the populace has taken up a new sport. Running over the loyal opposition with automobiles.

I wish I could sympathize, empathize, and rationalize, but I’m enjoying this too much. This gives a whole new twist to, “Go play in the freeway.” Look at it on the surface. What do they hope to gain blocking the street? You want to make the news? Go block the streets at a Hell’s Angels rally. See how that works out for ya.

The country has changed ladies and gentlemen. We’ve had years of homogenized left-wing madness from Washington and it’s all over now! Woksters! All men are created equal. Not you! Yeah yeah yeah it’s wrong, but that political pendulum has swung to the right and stuck to the wall. It’s fun to run over you! And if a bunch of MAGAs go through your protest like crap through a goose, what you gon’ do?

And what did you change? It was never meant to change anything. It was only meant to provide fodder for the Fake News and those five old bitches on The View. Nobody feels sorry for you. Nobody cares. And you know what happens when you get plowed down by a car? Even a little one. Bones aren’t supposed to be broken like that. That ain’t missing a step on the courthouse steps on the way to your divorce. I know. It happened to me.

You have numb spots on your legs. Nerves are damaged and you may not be able to wiggle your toes. You are going to limp and after your first bad fall in the kitchen you are one of those special people who can spot ant piss at ten yards. If you were hit from behind, you have PTSD out the ASS! Just clap loudly behind me and I go Neanderthal.

And you’re gonna take some pills. Oh yeah. I would wake up, take two Darvon 65s, a Placidyl, washed down with whiskey just to stop feeling the ants on my legs. And water. You feel water flowing over your legs. Can’t sleep on your left side. And that’s just if it only gets your legs. Hit your spine just above your butt, don’t worry about what I said above because now you can’t feel anything from your waist down. Or neck? You lay on your back eating porridge because your esophagus don’t work right. Your immune system is shot to hell but hopefully you caught religion, and you can advise the great unwashed on avoiding traffic.

Wanna know what the worst part is? You didn’t make one damn bit of difference. The promoters of your event counted their money and split. Oh yeah. You didn’t think those guys came for free did you? And while you’re feverishly pushing that button at the hospital for another shot your girl is crying on your best friend’s shoulder because he understands. And before the night is over she’ll understand, and while you’re staring at your door at home for the knock that never came, you’ll understand.

So before you go out and jump in front of that car, you know, the one with the redneck at the wheel, and all his friends screaming, “Kill him Wade!” Just go to a bar, jump up on the counter and yell, “All you pussy bikers suck!” It’s quicker that way.