Thoughts from the ammo line

Ammo Grrrll has a few thoughts ABOUT LAST TUESDAY…She writes:

Good night, everybody. John Fetterman has won in Pennsylvania. And the voting machines and ballot printers did not “work” in Arizona, although I think they worked exactly the way they were intended. A judge ruled against allowing the polls to be open for three more hours or for hand-counting the ballots. Awesome. And the person responsible for the mess was herself running for a higher office. Suh-weet! That kind of sums up where we are as a country in 2022. Our anticipated tsunami obviously did not materialize.

Decades of wretched miseducation in the government schools have done the electorate no favors. Biden himself — a toxic, corrupt, senile, prevaricating, girl-sniffing Tarbaby of disaster — was urged to stay the heck away from anyone who hoped to have a snowball’s chance in Hades of victory. The polls were all breaking our way right up until they didn’t. Were the polls manipulated to make us overconfident? Who knows? In the prophetic and inspiring words of Hillary Rodham Clinton: “What difference does it make?”

I hate to appropriate a Carter-era word, but I feel a heavy sense of “malaise” out there. A sense that we are being asked to clean the Augean Stables with just a whisk broom. Democrats had no choice except to run on a toxic stew of over-the-top fear-mongering and platitudes. They could hardly run on either their openly anti-American, racist, treasury-draining bribery programs or any “accomplishments.”

So it was all hair-on-fire rhetoric all the time. Popular ads here in Arizona featured three unattractive people with their alleged names and “Lifelong Republican” underneath their visages. The narrative went: “I’m a lifelong Republican but I’m voting for Katie Hobbs because Kari Lake is just too EXTREME. Her Extreme Extremism means she will end Social Security, — a good trick for a state governor! — ban all abortions AND birth control and bring back chastity belts and those bonnets from The Handmaid’s Tale.” Then there would be three women of varying degrees of color looking very sad as the voiceover shrieks, “Our RIGHTS!! Our Rights to ‘Reproductive Freedom’ have been taken away!!!”

True, the right to kill your baby has been around for 50 years now, with plenty of time to get accustomed to it. The original Roe v. Wade was meant for the first three months with the next three months for medical reasons and banned after that. But it has ratcheted ever upward. Before the Dobbs decision, you could dispose of your baby up until the labor pains were three minutes apart and for ANY reason.

It’s awful when a RIGHT you were used to just gets snatched away after only half a century and 50 million dead babies. You know what else was a right prized by many? The right to own human beings as chattel property! For 250 years, give or take, slave-owning was a RIGHT, goshdarnit! And in January of 1863, that right was taken away by the “racist” Republican Abraham Lincoln! Boohoohoo.

The Democrats were really upset, Boy Howdy, just like they are now with the unfettered right to kill babies possibly getting modified a bit when it’s thrown back to the states! Here’s an idea ‘bout how to preserve “the right to control [your] own bodies,” ladies. Why not, I don’t know, control your own bodies? Or at least the ACCESS to your own bodies. Maybe refrain from unprotected sex with anybody you don’t want to make a baby with? Especially strangers?

I am virulently opposed to the right to own slaves. And I feel exactly the same about the right to kill babies. Oh, and just by the by, up until October of 1913, it was also a RIGHT not to pay Federal income taxes. Yeah, I’m still upset about it, often shrieking into the sky like the unhinged loon in the popular meme.

I thought for sure that our quality of life was on the ballot and would be decisive: The right to secure borders; the right to be safe in our homes and vehicles. The right to ride inside a subway car – and not on the third rail. The right to afford groceries and gas for your car. The right not to have illustrated how-to fellatio manuals foisted on kindergartners. But apparently too many Americans are just fine with all that.

I thought we had reached maximum insanity and the country would demand a reboot. A friend in Southern Indiana – Southern Indiana! – had a kid whose classroom was forced to include a litter box because a demented child “identified” as a cat.

With Veterans Day today – God Bless every one of our vets — Americans realized that between abandoning Afghanistan, raiding the Strategic Petroleum Reserves, and being unable to fill recruitment quotas for any branch but the Marines, the U.S. is no way prepared to fight anyone except possibly soccer hooligans in the UK.

The Milleys and other woke brass have hauled out another stupid platitude – that “the military should look like America.” No. It absolutely should NOT “look like America.” The military is not just another woke corporation. It is a fighting force.

America has tens of millions of unfit fatties and geezers. We do not have unfit fatties or geezers in the military, at least not in the ranks. The U.S. military should be made up of smart, tough, fit, strong, young, competent warriors of any color and either of the two sexes that can pass every single rigorous test and make the grade. If you cannot qualify physically, then you can’t be a Ranger or a Seal. Period. “Equity” don’t go ‘round here.

These warriors should be able to read maps and operate sophisticated equipment. They should be able to improvise, adapt, and overcome. In other words, they should be not me. In fact, the un-me!

True, America LOOKS like me – old, short, overweight, lost without glasses, sometimes forgetful, technologically as left behind as our equipment in Afghanistan – but the military should look the OPPOSITE of me. Seriously, it won’t hurt my feelings at all. And most definitely it should not include men in dresses who have joined up for the free sex change operation. Seriously, has the leadership gone daft?

We need to clear out the asylum, one corrupt lunatic at a time. Tuesday was a very small and disappointing start. It was not the decisive turn toward sanity for which we had hoped. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” (To which my five-year-old responded, “If I had to go 1000 miles, I would take a plane.” Point taken.) There is much more work to be done. We’re demoralized now, but we really have no choice. It’s continue fighting or just give up and “love Big Brother.” We have two years to read up on Valley Forge and find the courage to emulate it.

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