Dinner with Libs

Last night, the wife and I attended a dinner party with two other couples. The hosts, old friends endowed with equally large amounts of generosity and common sense, laid out a feast of food and drink, and played Switzerland for the night. They discussed pressing issues good-naturedly and stayed far away from the dangerous third rail of politics.

My saintly wife wants nothing to do with talking politics, she’s always made kind, upbeat conversation, or said nothing at all. Despite her peaceful nature, however, she threatened me with severe sanctions on the ride over, should I disturb the dinner party peace with my often loud and sarcastic political observations. The reason for the warning was the third couple attending, also old friends, who are widely considered to be smart, accomplished, generous, and kind.

But, sadly, in my un-humble opinion, their political views come straight from CNN or the New York Times. I can accurately predict what they’ll say on a given issue before they open their mouths, for they suffer from the mental disorder of liberalism.

Now I should have heeded my wife’s advice and emulated our hosts’ strategic non-involvement. But to keep quiet in the face of absurd leftist claptrap would’ve required me to first duct tape my mouth securely, and then don two N-95 masks over that, just in case, actions that would have severely curtailed my ability to suck down Heinies.

So, with Heineken in hand, I did my usual schtick, listening to the conversations and picking my spots to deliver caustic, yet occasionally hilarious, commentary.

Our hosts spoke of recently looking into buying or leasing a new car, something my wife and I did two years ago at a terrific price with no difficulty, and how shocked they were at both the scarcity of cars and the king’s ransom now needed to purchase or lease one.

“I wonder why that’s happened in just the last fourteen months or so?” I responded innocently. For that, I got “the look” from the wife, the look that said if we’d been sitting at the table, I’d have gotten a good swift kick in the ankle for my remark.

Knowing my ankle was momentarily safe, I followed up my first comment with a solemn, “Sadly, we may never know.”

Then my wife spoke of family members who’d had a nightmare traveling, as flight after flight was canceled in the midst of Omicron madness.

Our liberal friends allowed that it was due to the virus. Then I responded, to looks of blank incredulity, that it was actually due to the completely botched federal response to COVID-19, i.e., made-up and oppressive quarantine rules, negative test requirements involving hard-to-find and unreliable tests, and the mandated firing of airline workers who didn’t want an untested, highly ineffective vaccine in their bodies.

Mrs. Liberal piped up that CDC experts said masks work and that the vaccine, although it prevented neither the acquisition nor spread of the virus, lessened the severity of the illness. I could have replied that, unlike the “experts,” I’ve treated actual humans for forty-three years, and masks are good for keeping out debris, blood, and bacteria, but not viruses that are exceedingly tiny. And unless you were a surgeon, wearing a well-adapted N-95 mask and changing to a new one every four hours or so using impeccable sterile technique, wearing masks against COVID-19 was pure theater from the get-go.

And since the CDC, NIAID, the NIH, and such, are all merely Democrat political action committees in white coats, the idea that the vaccines lessened the severity of COVID-19 illness is anecdotal at best, and more likely B.S. to cover their ample posteriors.

Instead of saying that, I took a deep breath followed by a long draught of fermented hops-and-barley goodness.

At dinner, Mr. Liberal, who moves in circles of influence far above my pay grade, pointed out how utterly corrupt the government of Greece is, how everything there is pay-to-play.

“Just like D.C.,” said I, stuffing some delicious steak into my mouth while wondering just how much each bite costs now in the age of Brandon. Under the table, I received the first kick to the shin of many. It’s a wonder I can walk this morning.

“It would be exceedingly hard to be any more corrupt than the folks now ruining, er, running our country are, I’d say,” I said.

Mr. Liberal disagreed and told an insider’s tale of someone who tried to run a graft in the construction industry and got nabbed by the feds. “Our U.S. system works because of non-partisan law enforcement, like the F.B.I.,” he concluded, causing me to almost aspirate a too-large bite of potato.

“Tell that to Trump!” I responded, getting a small grin from Mr. Host, and another direct hit on my left ankle.

Now, don’t get me wrong, most of the night’s conversation was light and uplifting, the eats were top-shelf, and I sometimes went thirty minutes without getting the boot. I’m merely passing along a few choice nuggets of liberal nonsense and my sadly unfiltered responses.

Things were calm at dessert until Mrs. Lib had something to say about all the neo-Nazis and white supremacists threatening American democracy. In between bites of one of those delicious cookies with the little half-cherry in the middle, I averred that in my long life, I’d never met or known a single neo-Nazi or white supremacist.

“Oh, they’re out there!” she assured me.

Really,” I responded, “Are there many neo-Nazis in Wilton or do they favor the Hamptons? And just where do the white supremacists shop, Bloomingdale’s or J. Crew?”

Mrs. Lib didn’t know but she assured me, no doubt based on the deep thoughts of Whoopi Goldberg and Joy Behar, that there were millions of them out there.

“Ah, I get it,” said I, “You’re talking about Trump supporters!” I cringed for a blow that never came because my wife was busy reaching for her hot tea. As I said, the libs are old friends and truly good people, albeit politically naive. As a result, I was not stabbed with a steak knife for my Trump retort, and the conversation moved along into calmer waters.

The night ended uneventfully, and as I drove home with a full belly and a throbbing left ankle, I wondered why I’d felt the need to respond to typical liberal baloney. Why did I have to stir things up? Why couldn’t I simply shut my trap?

And then the answer came to me.

Because I’m mad!

I’m mad because liberals, led by the practically petrified puppet in the White House, are destroying the country I love. Because they put politics above compassion in the COVID-19 public health fiasco. Because they badly damaged the most vulnerable among us, ruining kids’ educational progress with closed schools and remote (not) learning, and bruising kids’ psyches with useless and oppressive masking. Because they shut down our energy independence and torpedoed our economy, making the rich richer, the poor poorer, and causing my hard-earned nest egg to shrink. Because a deeply corrupt FBI, CIA, and mainstream media -- surely the envy of Greece -- took down a highly competent and effective president with the help of electoral shenanigans. Because, under Democrat leadership, our country has been reduced to an effete bystander worried about white rage and gender pronouns, while war breaks out in Europe.

And I’m absolutely furious that, after a lifetime of treating patients of all races, colors, and creeds with compassion and respect, liberals in their ivory towers have no compunction about calling me every derogatory name in the book that ends with -ist or -phobic right to my face.

I’m mad as hell, and I’m simply not going to take it anymore. And if that costs me some friends, so be it.

And now that I’ve got all that out of my system, I’m gonna go ice down my ankle.

Photo credit: PxHere public domain

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