Saturday, April 6, 2019
It was a gloriously beautiful day in New York City, one of those days when I love living here, despite the socialist- “progressive” insanity that oozes its way into every crevice of the city.
Despite its many problems, New York is still a great city, especially on Tartan Day when people of Scottish descent—of whom I am one—proudly and gloriously celebrate their heritage by parading through New York in full kiltish regalia, bagpipes a-piping amidst joyful camaraderie.
When the parade ended, I attended the after-party at Sony Hall, wearing my blue MAGA hat because I don’t have a Blair tartan MAGA hat . . . yet. Even though I was wearing earplugs, the amplified music from the stage was too painful for my ears, so I left the party and wandered around Times Square because the weather was so fine and gazillions of people were noticing my hat.
I sometimes forget how noticeable my MAGA hat is because I so often tune out people to avoid malevolent stares from brainwashed progs. However, an uplifting incident reminded me of the fact that my hat is a beacon and talisman.
As I crossed 42nd Street, heading south on Sixth Avenue, facing the stream of traffic, a passenger in a pedicab saw my hat and roared at the top of his lungs, “Make America Great Again, brother!”
His shout of solidarity was manna to my soul. Thank you, my patriotic brother, wherever you are. Your support meant more to me than you can possibly know.
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