Brown Shirts and Bulldogs

I can’t sleep – usually it is because of the bad dreams, which have been with me since my time in Somalia. Tonight it’s less heavy.

I’m worried about the Brown Shirt squads.

I just don’t know what to do about them. When they come knocking on my door offering a nice big, framed photo of Big Brother (with its’ embedded wireless camera and microphone) do I just smile and invite them in? Do we all sit around the tiny suburban home with the smell from the bad city sewer lines ( also a potentially shovel-ready project) – or do I yell them down and loose the dogs and see who makes it to the fence-line faster; an overweight Obamanator stuffed with illegal doughnuts, or an overweight English Bulldog stuffed with the last brown shirt visitor.

I’m betting on the dog. That’s because the Bulldog doesn’t care about the re-education programs. He doesn’t care if 2+2=4 or if it equals 5.

And should I join the “mobs” at the town hall meetings? Should I go and picket, yell down a few senators or other useless functionaries and assorted pieces of inanimate office furniture? Should I write angry notes, make angrier phone calls to congressmen, which will all go unanswered? Should I get the H1N1 virus immunization as soon as it is offered – so as to avoid the huge lines in front of the new government-run clinics? Or should I hope the Pig flu takes me out and spares me a world without Twinkies and potato chips and all the other stuff THEY want to take away from us?

And that last one is an interesting question, isn’t it? As I get older, I can appreciate the siren call of the brightly colored chip bags in the grocery store. I can appreciate the smell of pipe smoke and the taste of good rum, but it’s all going to be legislated away – so we can all be healthier. The president will continue to smoke and drink, but that behavior will be re-educated out of us. They’ll sign Richard Simmons on as the new aerobics czar, next. We’ll all be jiggling the sad metabolic remains of those sweets away in the park – endless rows of Orwellian Citizens, dancing to some old Lionel Richie songs or something. Yeah, we will be all “dancing on the ceiling,” because we will be so light, we will float there, like some forgotten helium balloons.

Yeah, we’ll be lighter, but we won’t be free.
Big Brother will be watching from that painting on your wall. He will look suspiciously like President Obama. Weird, huh? The eyes are hypnotizing.

I’m no different from anyone else. I don’t like people screwing with our nation – I don’t like dumb congressmen – I don’t like dumber union people – and heavies who attack people exercising their rights at these rallies. I don’t like the tenets of organizations like the Black Panthers. I think haters are among the most lost in our society. I don’t like smears against our regular citizens, snide Presidential or Congressional comments. I don’t like environmental legislation, which does nothing more than line the pockets of the rich and powerful – the buddies of those same Congressmen – while it forces unionization on contractors who do not want to be unionized (this is basically another form of money and power grab – and it’s legal!)

I don’t like any of it.

But I do like the fact that America is coming alive. I like the fact that the Tea Parties are continuing to grow. I like the feeling I get when I see congressmen running for the door at some meeting, because they are becoming afraid of the people. They should be afraid – or maybe they should act like men instead of mice or worms – and stand their ground - take what they deserve.

Got balls? Guess not.

It’s 3:15 a.m. and still no sleep. This is a condition I came away with from my time in the service. But I would never trade it for a chance to have the slate wiped clean. I loved serving my country. I loved wearing the uniform. I loved the military – even on the hard days. And I don’t ever remember being released from my oath – “I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God."

So, while I am a civilian now and as such, some of this may no longer apply to me (the UCMJ, chain of command, etc), I will defend this country still, against all enemies foreign and domestic.

I don’t know about you, but it seems like we’ve taken a lot of the foreign enemies out of the equation, lately. Our troops have hammered the foreign killers into the dust – and continue to do so. But it’s the domestic versions – mostly those trying to turn a free nation into some kind of socialist experiment… those are the ones we need to keep our eyes on. Like the bulldog, we have to try to figure out whether they are really our leaders – or just a different kind of enemy – or maybe like the bulldog, we should just not try to add 2+2, and just chase them to the fence-line and bite them on the butt.

I’m looking at the bulldog now – he’s eyeing me dubiously.

So seriously, what do we do with those who would make this the USSA?
Vote ‘em out. Vote ‘em all out. In the meantime, keep yelling the maggots down at these town hall meetings. Verbally hammer them mercilessly. And for those who wish to meet us on a more personal footing – who wish to beat us down physically in the streets…

You are outnumbered. You are outclassed (way outclassed in this case). And remember this…

We are coming for you. We are coming for you all.