Just Shoot Me

These days, it feels as if a drone has been hovering over my house, and now that it is "legal," as well as "ethical" and "wise" to kill American citizens from afar, I fear for my life.

Since our president has given new meaning to the phrase drone on and on and on, principled opposition to a president is no longer patriotic, and patriotism is no longer defined as fidelity to the constitution and the nation.

Patriotism, like truth, is now whatever Barack Obama says it is -- and if he says it is patriotic to vaporize me and any other human being standing in my vicinity -- citizen or not -- then, who am I to object?

In any case, I have for years exercised my First Amendment rights of unprincipled opposition to a man I consider -- hands down -- America's worst president. I suppose, taking that into account, my inevitability as a target became a foregone conclusion the day the EPA declared CO2 a pollutant. After all, I've been known to exhale. In fact, some have labeled me a windbag.

Considering all this, and the recognition that I can only hold my breath for so long, I should have realized that the administration's implementation of a plan to speed my imminent demise was not only unavoidable, but desirable -- for the collective good at least.

...and in the immortal words of Cristina Kirchner -- at least, I think it was her -- maybe it was another failure whose husband used to be a president:

"What difference, at this point, does it make?"

There has always been a risk in speaking truth to power. I've always known this. But to hear the progressives tell it, as a white, former businessman, I am the power.

Funny, it doesn't feel that way.

When I turn on the television, people like me are always the villain. When I open a newspaper, all I read is that I am the problem, having so bitterly clung to my guns and religion, while practicing unrestrained antipathy to the "other."

You know, people not like me.

Every presidential address blames me and mine for the lack of success and outright misery his ascendancy has bequeathed upon the nation and its inhabitants, legal and illegal -- if there is anyone actually 'illegal' any longer -- well... except for those who oppose, obstruct and dissent.

You know, people like me.

It's my own fault. My recent writing has been in support of letting the sequester go forward (an ironic word choice), in the hope (more irony) of helping to prevent the Obama juggernaut from proceeding unabated, and I have been very vocal in opposition to the man for almost his entire presidency.

My postman -- previously a wonderful African-American woman named Paula, who coincidentally, lives across the street -- has been replaced by a middle-aged, angry looking white man, remarkably, resembling John Brennan.

I have noticed that whenever I see Brennan on CNN, or any of the other Obama networks, he is nowhere to be found on my block.

Coincidence? I think not.

I have tried to avoid Mr. Brennan -- he is, after all, the father of the president's "leading from behind" drone policy -- but, he simply will not let me do so.

The other day, he insisted on stopping by to inform me he would no longer be delivering mail on Saturdays. I thought that strange. Did he inform all of the other people on his route or just save personal notification for those who were marked by the president for assassination?

After all, there has to be others. Many people don't like Obama. He's Hugo Chavez, without the smarts, charm and poise, but seemingly, also without the expiration date as well. I would really like to see his fifth inaugural address, but by then, I will certainly be dust in the wind.

In any event, I now know that the unprecedented fire and brimstone of hope and change will, unexpectedly, come on a Saturday. The drone operator, undoubtedly a unionized government employee, will get overtime -- it's only fair.

I had better shut my mouth; this is the kind of talk that got me on the "kill list" in the first place. But then, they can't really kill you twice.

Someone recently told me that all this talk made me sound paranoid.

To which, I asked the only question I could ask.

"Why? Did someone say something?"

And then I said.

"Get off my back, mom!"

Over the last 4 years, I've often thought of moving to the Dominican Republic to escape the terrorizing tentacles of the oppressive Obama regulatory onslaught, as well as the nontax-tax of Obamacare and the threat of ever increasing income taxes forcing me to "pay just a little more," so collectively the nation can move "forward" in a "balanced" and "fair" way, but that was before I was a target.

I had heard that the island of Hispaniola had an ample supply of nubile, young ladies -- not that any middle-aged man (or liberal senator from New Jersey) would be interested in that. To claim otherwise would be a "smear."

Not to defend Senator Menendez, but everyone knows that statutory rape is a crime that progressives are incapable of committing -- their bodies prevent it, or some such thing -- it's akin to genetics, or something.

"What difference, at this point, does it matter?"

Holding me without trial, or waterboarding me to find out what I know about the opposition would be unconstitutional. Having me arrested and held without bail -- that would be wrong. And since waterboarding is torture, what other choice do they have? It's better for all involved to just shoot me.

I may be treasonous for opposing Barack Obama and his efforts to transform the nation in his own image, but progressives have a strict moral code. Because of that, when they rain death upon me from the sky, I will at the very least, remain dry.

Barack Obama may be willing to ram a missile down my throat, but he would never pour water over my head -- a president has to be true to his beliefs.

And it is clearly better to kill me outright and be done with it. After all, I am a vocal nobody, something that, no doubt, they find immensely irksome. Who am I to object to the whims of our glorious leader?

My conversion from nobody to nowhere man would trouble no one, save for my dear, sainted mom -- and that's not even a given -- she liked me better when I was a kid. The fact that few would care is a win/win for the administration.

I can see the headlines.

"Unknown Right-Wing Racist Perishes in Natural Gas Explosion."

It wouldn't serve the meme to admit responsibility for my demise. Since it's been accepted as legal, ethical and wise to eliminate "imminent, unable to capture" threats, why make a big deal of explaining such eliminations after the fact.

Like I said -- or somebody said.

"What difference, at this point, does it make?"

The junta...er, administration, need not explain itself to anyone.

I take comfort in knowing the president has read his St. Thomas Aquinas and agonized over the decision to dissolve the ties that bind me to this mortal coil, without being unnecessarily constrained by the vagaries of our constitution, restrictions placed on his omnipotence by the requirement for due process of law, or judicial review.

I can accept that.

After all, isn't he the one we've been waiting for?

These days, it feels as if a drone has been hovering over my house, and now that it is "legal," as well as "ethical" and "wise" to kill American citizens from afar, I fear for my life.

Since our president has given new meaning to the phrase drone on and on and on, principled opposition to a president is no longer patriotic, and patriotism is no longer defined as fidelity to the constitution and the nation.

Patriotism, like truth, is now whatever Barack Obama says it is -- and if he says it is patriotic to vaporize me and any other human being standing in my vicinity -- citizen or not -- then, who am I to object?

In any case, I have for years exercised my First Amendment rights of unprincipled opposition to a man I consider -- hands down -- America's worst president. I suppose, taking that into account, my inevitability as a target became a foregone conclusion the day the EPA declared CO2 a pollutant. After all, I've been known to exhale. In fact, some have labeled me a windbag.

Considering all this, and the recognition that I can only hold my breath for so long, I should have realized that the administration's implementation of a plan to speed my imminent demise was not only unavoidable, but desirable -- for the collective good at least.

...and in the immortal words of Cristina Kirchner -- at least, I think it was her -- maybe it was another failure whose husband used to be a president:

"What difference, at this point, does it make?"

There has always been a risk in speaking truth to power. I've always known this. But to hear the progressives tell it, as a white, former businessman, I am the power.

Funny, it doesn't feel that way.

When I turn on the television, people like me are always the villain. When I open a newspaper, all I read is that I am the problem, having so bitterly clung to my guns and religion, while practicing unrestrained antipathy to the "other."

You know, people not like me.

Every presidential address blames me and mine for the lack of success and outright misery his ascendancy has bequeathed upon the nation and its inhabitants, legal and illegal -- if there is anyone actually 'illegal' any longer -- well... except for those who oppose, obstruct and dissent.

You know, people like me.

It's my own fault. My recent writing has been in support of letting the sequester go forward (an ironic word choice), in the hope (more irony) of helping to prevent the Obama juggernaut from proceeding unabated, and I have been very vocal in opposition to the man for almost his entire presidency.

My postman -- previously a wonderful African-American woman named Paula, who coincidentally, lives across the street -- has been replaced by a middle-aged, angry looking white man, remarkably, resembling John Brennan.

I have noticed that whenever I see Brennan on CNN, or any of the other Obama networks, he is nowhere to be found on my block.

Coincidence? I think not.

I have tried to avoid Mr. Brennan -- he is, after all, the father of the president's "leading from behind" drone policy -- but, he simply will not let me do so.

The other day, he insisted on stopping by to inform me he would no longer be delivering mail on Saturdays. I thought that strange. Did he inform all of the other people on his route or just save personal notification for those who were marked by the president for assassination?

After all, there has to be others. Many people don't like Obama. He's Hugo Chavez, without the smarts, charm and poise, but seemingly, also without the expiration date as well. I would really like to see his fifth inaugural address, but by then, I will certainly be dust in the wind.

In any event, I now know that the unprecedented fire and brimstone of hope and change will, unexpectedly, come on a Saturday. The drone operator, undoubtedly a unionized government employee, will get overtime -- it's only fair.

I had better shut my mouth; this is the kind of talk that got me on the "kill list" in the first place. But then, they can't really kill you twice.

Someone recently told me that all this talk made me sound paranoid.

To which, I asked the only question I could ask.

"Why? Did someone say something?"

And then I said.

"Get off my back, mom!"

Over the last 4 years, I've often thought of moving to the Dominican Republic to escape the terrorizing tentacles of the oppressive Obama regulatory onslaught, as well as the nontax-tax of Obamacare and the threat of ever increasing income taxes forcing me to "pay just a little more," so collectively the nation can move "forward" in a "balanced" and "fair" way, but that was before I was a target.

I had heard that the island of Hispaniola had an ample supply of nubile, young ladies -- not that any middle-aged man (or liberal senator from New Jersey) would be interested in that. To claim otherwise would be a "smear."

Not to defend Senator Menendez, but everyone knows that statutory rape is a crime that progressives are incapable of committing -- their bodies prevent it, or some such thing -- it's akin to genetics, or something.

"What difference, at this point, does it matter?"

Holding me without trial, or waterboarding me to find out what I know about the opposition would be unconstitutional. Having me arrested and held without bail -- that would be wrong. And since waterboarding is torture, what other choice do they have? It's better for all involved to just shoot me.

I may be treasonous for opposing Barack Obama and his efforts to transform the nation in his own image, but progressives have a strict moral code. Because of that, when they rain death upon me from the sky, I will at the very least, remain dry.

Barack Obama may be willing to ram a missile down my throat, but he would never pour water over my head -- a president has to be true to his beliefs.

And it is clearly better to kill me outright and be done with it. After all, I am a vocal nobody, something that, no doubt, they find immensely irksome. Who am I to object to the whims of our glorious leader?

My conversion from nobody to nowhere man would trouble no one, save for my dear, sainted mom -- and that's not even a given -- she liked me better when I was a kid. The fact that few would care is a win/win for the administration.

I can see the headlines.

"Unknown Right-Wing Racist Perishes in Natural Gas Explosion."

It wouldn't serve the meme to admit responsibility for my demise. Since it's been accepted as legal, ethical and wise to eliminate "imminent, unable to capture" threats, why make a big deal of explaining such eliminations after the fact.

Like I said -- or somebody said.

"What difference, at this point, does it make?"

The junta...er, administration, need not explain itself to anyone.

I take comfort in knowing the president has read his St. Thomas Aquinas and agonized over the decision to dissolve the ties that bind me to this mortal coil, without being unnecessarily constrained by the vagaries of our constitution, restrictions placed on his omnipotence by the requirement for due process of law, or judicial review.

I can accept that.

After all, isn't he the one we've been waiting for?

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