Sunday, February 17, 2019
Last night I was riding the F train in the vicinity of Park Sloppe, wearing my red MAGA hat, minding my own business, contently munching some delicious unsalted tortilla chips from Trader Joe’s. I glanced around and noticed a snowflake staring at me in horror, her face frozen in a contorted mixture of incredulity and rage. I shrugged and continued munching. A few minutes later I glanced over again. The snowflake was doubled over with her face in her hands. MAGA hats apparently have miraculous powers.
Welcome to the real world, toots. And don’t blame me for your existential woes; blame your indoctrinators. Why don’t you try dusting off that unused brain of yours and start using it?
It’s Sunday morning and a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Reports are breaking out all over, even on CNN, that Jusstawana Smellett did, in fact, orchestrate the hoax . . . which everyone with a brain already knew.
May I indulge in a little gloating? Here’s what I posted on Day 11 of the Chronicles (Feb. 1):
Jussie “Tawana Brawley” Smollett. Ever hear of him? Me neither. Insignificant, unknown actor who hates Trump and needs a career boost = Hoax.
Hoax. Hoax. Hoax. End of story.
Leftwing extremists orchestrate hoaxes like this all the time. You’d think this latest hoax, coming so close on the heels of the Covington hoax would make people just a teeeeny tiny bit skeptical.
So, it’s a beautiful day, Jusstawana has been outed, and I decide that today would be the perfect day to wear my bright red MAGA hat in deep blue Park Sloppe, that
pinnacle of enlightenment infamous bastion of brainwashed SJWs and fossilized minds.
I stroll down Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn towards the Barclay Center. The sidewalks are thronged. Lots of people are noticing my bright red hat, and it’s impossible not to notice the people noticing me.
I stop to read an informational poster at the corner of Fifth Ave. and 3rd Street, near the historic Old Stone House. The poster summarizes Brooklyn’s role in the American Revolution. I’m always amazed to discover how many people, especially New Yorkers, have never even heard of the Battle of Brooklyn.
A jovial guy – clearly an inhabitant of Normal Land – stops and says “I’ve got to get one of those hats, but I’m. . .”
I finish his sentence for him, “. . . afraid of being physically attacked?”
I tell him that I was a little afraid when I first started wearing the hat, but to my surprise have had many positive reactions. We chat for a minute, he tells me he’s from Arizona, I tell him I’m from North Carolina. I tell him he would probably enjoy visiting the gift shops on the lower level of Trump Tower. He has an impatient child in tow, so we shake hands and continue on our merry ways.
At the Barclay Center I board a 4 train to Manhattan with no destination in mind; I’m in tourist mode. Decide to disembark at Grand Central and stroll around for a while. Am killing two birds with one stone: leisurely taking in the sights and glories of New York, and introducing hundreds, maybe thousands of people to the Hat.
I know that what I’m doing may seem quixotic to some people, but I also know that one person can make a difference.
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