The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner

Time flies by at the speed of light and we are here again -- the fourth Thursday of November. Pageantry is the table spread, communion of family and friend the circumstance. We are bound by lineage or by common tongue around the table to celebrate a tradition of giving gratitude. Pooling of mutual admiration on the day we can eat, drink, and be merry. For tomorrow we shop! This year’s spectacle is brought to you by The Chronicles of a Lost Southerner.  

This land is a room full of winners. On stage the American Dream unfolding before us. This year’s dreams were produced by indigestion from months, and months, and months of monkey turd tacos served up by the prospective ruling class. Looking around as the hangover sets in for a season I can no longer discern between natives and exiles in Eden. Hopefully we are waking from the fog of verbal war. The crowds have dispersed. Some in relief, some in curse. The reds shout, “Hallelujah!” The blues cry, “How the hell ya let this happen?” 

Discourse be damned when people are charged. Experience has shown gasoline don’t burn as fast as emotions. Once a grand plan has burnt to the land. Only a circus still stands. In the end we sat through a fairytale with an ice queen, a taker, a magician, and sixteen slaughtered dwarfs. They broke all the commandments consistently, and with enthusiastic vigor. Damn robbers! The only weapon of force needed was our belief in free-dumb. The greatest of noble hustles is when the conman and the mark know the rules. What an ant kingdom this land has become. America is so loaded with internal evidence of fragility that pretty soon we won’t get credit for accepting it on confidence alone. How much longer can the founder’s plan snatch the Republic from the mob’s jaws?    

Rational minds must stick together now that the fringe has gone professional. It won’t be easy to wash the taste of first class out of their mouths. These bastards have financing, false news, and lions. We’ll need to grit our teeth, cuz in the lion’s den the bite is coming and the concert of pain is nigh.  

There will be days when shooting for “almost fine” is a day to be proud of. It’s great to have goals! More than ever I am rooting for the canary in the coal mine. Her family must be so proud of her station – signaling the world’s pending doom by her lifeless corps. Keep chirping little bird, we still have a great deal of fight in our belly. I love this land, and I love this starship! It’s the only one accepting my race: the human race.  

Until next year. Live life, don’t merely exist, and be your own normal. If you do it your own way for your own reasons, then live with the consequences. For good or for ill. Stay strong my friends. Dig in, check in and let history mop up the details.  

Pro-life for life! Let’s end recreational abortions.

Jarvis