I am conscious of my guilt in getting to Ammo Grrrll’s column this morning. Ammo Grrrll now aptly turns to CONSCIOUSNESS OF GUILT. She writes:
Once, when I was a small child around 4, an idea came to me to cut two little round holes in my sheer white bedroom curtains. I didn’t say it was a GOOD idea. Apparently, it was not my first bad idea involving a scissors as I have the one and only formal childhood portrait of myself, about age 3, wherein I had helpfully cut my own bangs the day before the sitting.
But, having cut two hunks out of the curtains, I had an unanticipated problem. What to do with the evidence? Ah, another cunning idea came to me – I would hide the little round doughnut holes in one of my Golden Books. Mother noticed the mutilated curtains more quickly than I had anticipated: “SUSAN MARIE, come in here! Who in the world cut holes in your curtains?!!” Now, I have to confess here that I am a terribly bad liar. This deficiency definitely impaired my ability to be a career criminal or politician (BIRM).
And I had been very strictly inculcated from birth – much like George Washington, only much shorter – not to lie. What’s a 4-year-old miscreant to do? Deny, deny, deny all the while being careful not to lie directly. Start by throwing a pal under the bus. “Maybe Libazeth Brauer did it?” Mother pointed out that Elizabeth hadn’t been over for many days and just yesterday the curtains were fine. She also noticed the scissors on the chair NEAR the curtains. (Doh!) They were blunt, plastic kids’ scissors. Frankly, I don’t know how they even managed to cut the curtains. (Why didn’t we have common-sense scissor control to prevent inanimate objects from causing tragedy?)
“You know who I think cut the curtains?” Mama asked. “I think you did it, didn’t you?”
“That is not in my purview,” I parried. No, wait, I didn’t say that. I said, “I did it on accident.” (Happens all the time. Well played!) A few days later, she was reading me a Little Golden Book and out fell the two little round cut-outs. I burst into tears of contrition – but mostly tears of being caught – and took the only course left to me: I opened an impeachment “inquiry” into Mama. No, again, that is incorrect. I said, “Let’s not tell Daddy, Ok?” She agreed.
And with a mighty leap, we transition from a totally-guilty 4-year-old’s dilemma to the current Democrat Party’s reaction to being caught flat-footed with their leading candidate bragging about being a nepotistic crook and influence peddler, and yukking it up with the Foreign Relations Committee. The bald-faced nature of the quid – “Let the Ukraine pay for Hunter’s cocaine!” – in exchange for the quo – a BILLION (with a B) dollar loan blew my naïve little mind. It turns out that I AM still capable of being shocked!
I have never in my life been more ashamed of ever voting Democrat than I am today. Ditto for voting for the pathetic Mitt Romney, who has never once even pretended to have the President’s back, except as a place to plunge a shiv. Come ON, Utah! He cannot possibly reflect your values. Yeah, he shares your religion. Big deal. Jerry Nadler, Chuck Schumer, and Bernie Sanders ostensibly share mine, but I would sooner vote for a conservative atheist, any baby-protecting Born Again Christian, or a border-defending Rastafarian than any of them.
A more venal Democrat collective of kleptocrats, liars, hysterics, and narcissists I have not seen in my many decades on the planet. Whenever they are caught, they go on hysterical offense, enlist their ventriloquist’s dummies in the media, get Hollywood twits to twitter and start screeching “IMPEACHMENT” as a really boring, yet threatening, mantra.
Even before the inauguration, the Democrats have played non-stop, Impeachment Whack-A-Mole. RUSSIAN COLLUSION! (WHACK! – none.) Well, okay, then, OBSTRUCTION of the investigation of a non-crime! (WHACK – did not happen.) RAAACISM! (WHACK! Lowest unemployment among blacks and Latins in history!). Trump won’t give us the transcript of the Ukraine phone call! (WHACK!) I got your transcript right here! (WHACK!)
I hated the stupid Whack-A-Mole game at Chuck E. Cheese, where I spent several thousand expensive hours when my son was young. It was a futility in which you could not win because the moles just kept popping up no matter how many times you whacked them.
The bottom line is this: 2016 was not supposed to happen. They were supposed to get eight more years to “fundamentally transform” America into The Venezuela of El Norte. Hillary was going to win in a landslide. Open borders, felony voters, cemetery registration, vote harvesting and eliminating the electoral college would guarantee Democrat wins forever. No need even to start shredding damning evidence in every department, because… SAY WHAT? She LOST!!! Order Bleach Bit by the gallon and call Mad, Mad Maddow STAT!
The shredding machines must have been running full-time, 3 shifts, until January 20th, and even then the Swamp was so laden with spies, leakers, rogue Intelligence thugs, hacks in black, GOP obstructionists and Never-Trumpers, that Trump — who thought he had seen everything in the comparatively fair-playing, courteous worlds of New York real estate, the construction industry and reality television — was initially caught off guard.
And always with the tedious invective dialed up to Eleven. Once “Nazi” and “Hitler” come out, there’s really no place else to go. Mao and Stalin made Hitler look like a piker, but the people shrieking at Trump will never admit it. Hey, communism is all in a good cause; gotta break a few eggs. Icky White People, Asians, Conservatives of Color — no omelet for you!
Hysteria that constant and that over-the-top meant only one thing to me – there were legions of people who were guilty as hell and terrified of losing everything, including their liberty. My old Irish grandfather once said the following to my cousins and me when we loudly denied tossing the barn cat into the stock tank to see if it could swim*: “You throw a stone into a pack of dogs, and the one that barks the loudest is the one you hit.” To call the current Democrats a pack of dogs is an insult to rabid dingos everywhere, but you take my point.
*The cat COULD swim, but evidently, did not enjoy it. We COULD run from Grandpa. But not fast enough as it turned out. In our defense, we were free range kids, left unsupervised. Also, we were 4, 5, and 7. Plus, the cat started it.