A Mute Thanksgiving

We cannot spend all of our time thinking about the liberal hordes that menace civilization, even if they are political stage hogs, so I offer this early Thanksgiving insight into a much smaller political unit--the family. Enjoy!

They came. They ate. They conquered. Who are they? Relatives, among them the Great Preying Mother-in-Law (GPM) followed by the most notable of the lesser creatures: the Muted Man (father-in-law), the Laughing Jack L. (brother-in-law), the Warbling Whiner (his wife), and the Bandihoots (their kids). They had all come for a great Thanksgiving and expected, at the very least, the Meal-of-the-Century.

When all had finally arrived, food streamed out of the kitchen. Some platters went unappreciated, especially by the Bandihoots (little vermin!). Ignoring her obviously defective third generation, the GPM inspected everything before eating, nose occasionally lifting in disdain, but eating it none the less. The muted man made sloppy noises of delight as he cleaned his plate...probably his first real food in years. The laughing Jack L. entertained us with a constant stream of improbable stories, as well as with his endlessly open mouth, a rotating food show which sometimes rotated its way onto the carpet (Reminder to Self: Send cleaning bill for dining room carpet to Jack L.). The Warbling Whiner, thin as a reed, picked her way through the meal. Do men really prefer such skeletons for wives? There's nothing to grab, and surely such fragile beings cannot cook. No wonder the Bandihoots were obliterating the house instead of sitting at the table, their little brains had been starved since birth if not in the uterus. The hostess had one profane thought as she stared at the cackling, preening, tumbling flock in front of her, "too bad it’s illegal to force feed fowl, or should I say, foul creatures."

Eventually, the holiday was over. The debris of rabid feasting laid strewn across tables, counters, sinks, coffee tables, and even the floor, which the dog and cat were happily licking. The requisite diplomatic conversation—polite, gossipy, business- or sports-oriented--had been held in the required tone for the required duration with the required relatives. The mind-numbing effect of watching and playing endless football, coupled with the sleep-inducing properties of drink and tryptophan, had finally done in the men. The Bandihoots were also losing steam, and The Muted Man, who never made a sound all day, now snored gently in his chair.

Now the Great Preying Mother-in-Law was calling, so the flock slowly revived themselves. Amid contented calls of "it was so nice to see you," "where did the time go," and "we don't do this often enough," they assembled near the exit to leave. A strong, sucking wind drew through the house and across the driveway as the wildlife swept out the front door fully fed. Thank goodness…they’re leaving…someone else will have to feed them next time. As car motors started, I turned. The Muted Man was slowly making his way out the door, coming towards me. In the quiet, he gave me a big hug and in his quivering old voice softly said, “thank you.” My voice began to quiver, too, so I just hugged him back. Note to Self: Christmas migration is coming soon. Have it at your house again.

As Goes California...

...so goes the Nation down the drain. The drain is very much a socialist drain, which is understandable, as the leftist powers that be in California fancy themselves in the mold of French socialists, which, for those of you who have never lived in France, means being arrogant and spiteful, and true to French form, largely ineffectual in actually getting things done in the real world. Like the average French socialist, the average leftist Californian embraces his socialist ideas more than his family and cannot believe anyone has more workable ideas than they do, which by the way, happens every two seconds. They spend a lifetime crafting elaborate socialist schemes to control every aspect of human life (i.e., schemes to erase human freedom, creativity, and hope), only to have them usurped by a lowly fellow citizen, who, oh gawd, comes from Nebraska. Utter humiliation for a true Californian. I have never heard a Californian say anything but rubbish about other
parts of the Nation, if they even think of them at all. When George Bush was elected for the second time, a whining, utterly confused and hurt (socialists always feel very, very hurt) Californian expressed his consternation on local talk radio this way…”I don’t know, those people (meaning everyone who lives between San Francisco and Manhattan and voted for Bush) must not travel much.” Oddly enough, the facts seem to point to just the opposite, that it is the leftist Californian who hasn’t traveled much, except perhaps to Cuba, to Iran, or to various miniscule, underdeveloped places that the leftist would like to save (i.e., rule), but in which he rarely ever lives and where he never sends his kids for an education. Visits to such places confirm for him his elitist status as “enlightened,” an affirmation that the average leftist needs repeatedly in order to maintain his self esteem, the health of which hinges on finding and maintaining a population of people without self esteem who can be persuaded to remain helpless forever. Californians and the French alike are quite sure that they are creating heaven (remember, it's a socialist heaven) on earth, and they are just as sure that the rest of us, whom they deem not well traveled enough to form good opinions or any opinions, will follow them to the lovely socialist paradises they have created in California and France. But what are these paradises? Witness France, where socialism is burning, unable even to employ its white French citizens who have dealt with unemployment in double digits for years, much less deal with its citizenry of color. The French are good at painting, just visit the Louve, but they are even better at painting ideas in thin air that are convoluted, stultifying, and produce little good in reality. Similarly, the Californian expends much energy chasing after the failed world socialist dream but cannot comprehend the dire straits that his state is in financially, does not realize the dumbing down of education taking place in his schools, thinks that if only he could tax the rich, destroy corporations, remove his neighbors guns, expose children to the ‘proper’ sexual ideas, and above all, get them away from parental control, then his socialist paradise would exist and people would be grateful…grateful to him (a socialist cannot function without gratitude from the subjugated). Apparently California, who voted for a socialist future in the most recent election, has yet to smell the fumes roiling up from Paris and 300 other French cities, and prefers to continue building it own socialist funeral pyre.