Friday, March 1, 2019
Milo Yiannopoulos’s brilliant analysis of the JussTawana BrawleySmollett hoax—the best I’ve seen—was posted on Frontpage Mag today.
It was also mentioned and linked on Ace of Spades HQ this morning, which is how I found the article. If you don’t visit Ace of Spades HQ morning, noon, and night, you’re missing one of the best political blogs out there.
National Enquirer’s Drudge Report’s “shock polls,” rampaging airplane passengers, and incessant links to fake news propagandists. If you want the truth, and nothing but the truth, go to Ace.
Last night as I was walking around the East Village wearing my bright red MAGA hat, a young woman let out an audible groan as she passed me. But it was a civilized groan of recognition tinged with a note of mild resignation, not a hateful groan. I laughed out loud, but I waited until she was out of earshot so she wouldn’t misunderstand me. I was laughing out of happiness because she had just restored my faith in humanity, a little bit, enough to make me happy.
So, I tip my MAGA hat to that civilized young lady—and she was a lady—for lifting my spirits, for embodying the civilized America in which I grew up. Her behavior was like that of my childhood playmates in the 1950s. In my neighborhood, whenever my playmates’ arguments would escalate to a heated pitch, the worst thing that we could think to say was, “I’ll sue!”
I was also happy for another reason: the Hat’s magical powers had apparently returned after being on hiatus for a couple of days, when all it had been doing was merely eliciting glares and boring stares. Something happening in the stars, perhaps?
During my walkabout, a bicyclist who saw my hat yelled out “My God!” His reaction was so hilarious that I could barely contain my laughter until he had peddled off. I didn’t want the cyclist to think I was laughing at him; I was laughing at the absurd situation where someone freaks out because of a hat.
At this point in my Maga hat-wearing odyssey, I’ve moved somewhat beyond mocking the unfortunate brainwashed innocents who react to my hat in such ways. Now I pity them more than anything else, and I wish that I could somehow help them free their minds from the chains of the Politically Correct Thought Police.
After continuing my stroll, I soon discovered that it is apparently common for East Villagers to make their opinions audibly known, often in an uncivilized manner. Fine. I understand that they’re “just” a bunch of brainwashed pot-addled kids. I can handle rude comments. What I will not tolerate is the suppression of free speech.
One young man—who happened to have dark skin—said very audibly as I passed by, “I don’t like that hat.” He was with a crowd of friends, and I know that individuals are emboldened when they’re in a group of like-minded people, so I did not respond and kept walking. In retrospect, I think I could have stopped and had a brief conversation because his tone was not threatening, but I was hungry and my energy level was low.
A minute later, I passed through a pack of obviously stoned kids who had taken over the sidewalk and were dancing around like spastic electrons. One of them squawked, “fuck that hat” but I knew it was just the pot talking. After I passed by, I turned around to look at them—in a friendly way, mostly out of curiosity—and one of the guys shouted out “it wasn’t me.”
I have a feeling that I could have completely defused the situation—not that it was all that bad to begin with—by going back and then suddenly dancing with them. I suspect they would have found that to be incredibly hilarious.
If I hadn’t been so hungry, I would have done just that. The next time I go for a MAGA hat stroll in the East Village, I’ll be sure to down a hearty meal first.
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