Ever since The Economist ran its dismissive piece about Bob Barr's presidential candidacy I have been mulling over precisely where I fit in to the Libertarian Party.
Here are my choices:
I don't think that I quite belong in the Ruby Ridge wing. I read a lot of survivalist SF novels for entertainment, but my wife won't let me stockpile food and second-chance vests in the basement no matter how eloquently I explain that the breakdown of society is at most a few years off--maybe months if Barack Obama is elected President. Besides, I frankly fear IRS agents with calculators and blackberries more than I tremble at the thought of black helicopters and the FBI Hostage Elimination Teams.
As for the Reefer Madness wing (excuse me, deep sucking breath), while I have to fess up that it is probably reasonably representative of the first two years of college that I only vaguely remember, I'd like to point out two mitigating circumstances. First, the statute of limitations for almost everything should have expired, except possibly for that cow homicide. Second, I am now a responsible father, so of course none of that ever happened. When Officer Fiendly teaches the DARE class at school, I smile tightly and say nothing.
(About the cow homicide: even if the statute hasn't run out, it's too bizarre not to tell. I went to college in southern North Carolina and had friends who were druggies and gun nuts. Once I accompanied them on a weapons-purchasing trip to fabled Fayette-nam. One individual, whom I shall not name because he might actually read this and hunt me down if I did, purchased a weapon that would today be considered a banned assault weapon. We were driving back to campus through an agricultural area, when he screamed at us to stop the car. We figured he needed to take a piss. He leaped out of the vehicle and strode quickly over to the fence that separated us from a herd of grazing cows, carrying his new toy. Before anyone could so much as munch a Dorito, he raised the weapon and fired into the body of a cow, which collapsed instantly. "Yee-hah," he shouted, "I always wondered if that would work. We better get out of here!")
I think the problem for The Economist is that on the other side of the pond their binoculars can't make out queers.
I belong to what Becky might call the gun-toting pro-lesbian wing of the Libertarian Party:
The major problem with most Libertarians--at least those who go to conventions and write blogs--is they haven't got a damn sense of humor. At least not about themselves. Wit and I use the term advisedly, is generally reserved for slashing comments at other people who happen to disagree with them over the finer points of anarchism or minarchism. Anybody who actually uses minarchism correctly in a sentence is not somebody I want to watch naked lesbians with.
I bet we could get more than 400,000 people to vote for us if we dropped the Reason Magazine/Cato Institute happy Stepford neo-con approach and tired the outcast route to unify all gun-toting, tattooed, plaid-shirt lesbian, no-helmet, pot-smoking folks who have never really bothered to vote because there's nobody out there representing them.
And no, licking the whipped cream off a stripper's tits doesn't make Bob Barr a member of the club.
Here are my choices:
The party is also badly divided between what might be called its Ruby Ridge wing and its Reefer Madness wing. The Ruby Ridge wing, which has still not recovered from the terrible day when the FBI shot several survivalists at Ruby Ridge in Idaho, believes that freedom comes from the barrel of a gun. The Reefer Madness wing is more interested in keeping the government's hands off its spliffs.
I don't think that I quite belong in the Ruby Ridge wing. I read a lot of survivalist SF novels for entertainment, but my wife won't let me stockpile food and second-chance vests in the basement no matter how eloquently I explain that the breakdown of society is at most a few years off--maybe months if Barack Obama is elected President. Besides, I frankly fear IRS agents with calculators and blackberries more than I tremble at the thought of black helicopters and the FBI Hostage Elimination Teams.
As for the Reefer Madness wing (excuse me, deep sucking breath), while I have to fess up that it is probably reasonably representative of the first two years of college that I only vaguely remember, I'd like to point out two mitigating circumstances. First, the statute of limitations for almost everything should have expired, except possibly for that cow homicide. Second, I am now a responsible father, so of course none of that ever happened. When Officer Fiendly teaches the DARE class at school, I smile tightly and say nothing.
(About the cow homicide: even if the statute hasn't run out, it's too bizarre not to tell. I went to college in southern North Carolina and had friends who were druggies and gun nuts. Once I accompanied them on a weapons-purchasing trip to fabled Fayette-nam. One individual, whom I shall not name because he might actually read this and hunt me down if I did, purchased a weapon that would today be considered a banned assault weapon. We were driving back to campus through an agricultural area, when he screamed at us to stop the car. We figured he needed to take a piss. He leaped out of the vehicle and strode quickly over to the fence that separated us from a herd of grazing cows, carrying his new toy. Before anyone could so much as munch a Dorito, he raised the weapon and fired into the body of a cow, which collapsed instantly. "Yee-hah," he shouted, "I always wondered if that would work. We better get out of here!")
I think the problem for The Economist is that on the other side of the pond their binoculars can't make out queers.
I belong to what Becky might call the gun-toting pro-lesbian wing of the Libertarian Party:
A couple years ago I was trying to convince some converts to the Party. They were Idaho panhandle conservatives and were none too keen on any of this gay marriage type stuff. I explained to them that libertarianism meant there would be naked pot smoking lesbians frolicking on the shores of Lake Coeur d'Alene , but they would also be able to keep their Uzis and semi-automatics.
The guys thought they could get down with that.
The major problem with most Libertarians--at least those who go to conventions and write blogs--is they haven't got a damn sense of humor. At least not about themselves. Wit and I use the term advisedly, is generally reserved for slashing comments at other people who happen to disagree with them over the finer points of anarchism or minarchism. Anybody who actually uses minarchism correctly in a sentence is not somebody I want to watch naked lesbians with.
I bet we could get more than 400,000 people to vote for us if we dropped the Reason Magazine/Cato Institute happy Stepford neo-con approach and tired the outcast route to unify all gun-toting, tattooed, plaid-shirt lesbian, no-helmet, pot-smoking folks who have never really bothered to vote because there's nobody out there representing them.
And no, licking the whipped cream off a stripper's tits doesn't make Bob Barr a member of the club.
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