“IT’S NOT ME, IT’S YOU”
Please don’t act surprised, we both know it’s been over for a long time — it’s just that now, after Denver; I can’t pretend otherwise.
Some people are thrilled when their exes make fools of themselves — fortunately for you, I am not one of them. That was, until you decided to announce to the world that your new BFF is Bob Barr; that he is the one you’d rather been seen around town with and who is being marketed as the chosen one to finally put you into the mainstream of political parties. I mean, seriously … Bob Barr?? And to think, I put your signs in my yard for all the world to see.
I can’t honestly say that the warning signs weren’t there — the way you seemed to disregard my loyalty in favor of the prospect of national coverage; the way you looked at other parties when you thought I wasn’t looking, the way you were never there for our children; Liberty, Freedom and Values like you once were — just paying them enough lip service to make it appear that they (and I) were still important to you but really only using us for photo ops.
I felt betrayed because of how much I had believed in you; how honorable you seemed compared to the other parties — how, when all the cool kids asked how I could possibly stand by you when you had zero chance of winning, I defended you and told everyone that you were different — that you had real values! How long ago, we stood together against the world of political corruption; determined to change the business-as-usual way of thinking. Slowly the little disagreements became big ones — whether we were “Big L” or “Little L,” the platform arguments and who would be allowed to attend what meetings … silly stuff that became intolerable and seen as major character flaws.
And I will admit, I felt real shame when I found myself desperate for attention and someone who would match words to deeds when it came to the Constitution; that fateful day that I looked at my voter registration card stamped “Republican” instead of “Libertarian” … it seemed that only Ron Paul was not embarrassed to be associated with us — that he didn’t feel the kids and I were too old fashioned, that we hadn’t somehow lost our luster. I need you to believe me when I say how hard it was to look outside the party, to know that my campaigning was not appreciated by you anymore, that everything we had built over the years was so easily replaced with your new arm candy.
I know I sound like a bitter woman, but have you really investigated this Bob Barr person? Have you taken him home to meet your founding fathers — what would they say about him; the ones that worked so hard to make you what you are today? Do they know he was the Anti-Drug coordinator for the Department of Justice, or that he was employed by the CIA from 1970-1978? That he voted for both the Patriot Act and the War in Iraq and that his PAC routinely gives money to Republicans running for office … against Libertarians??
I understand that in today’s 24-hour-news, top-tier-only, sound-bite-driven political world being hitched to something as old-fashioned as myself can be seen as a liability — that the media can pressure you into the equivalent of a comb-over and convertible sports car in order to appear trendy, but remember that it’s always best to ‘dance with the one what brung ya.’ Your new squeeze, Bob Barr has changed is positions so many times it’s a wonder he doesn’t suffer from vertigo.
And come November, when you’ve realized that the flash in the pan tactics didn’t work and they’re still laughing at you and calling you names like gun nut and wackjob and still trivializing you — after you’ve finally awakened to the fact that working within the system means that you’re still part of the broken system; you might feel like crawling back and trying to rekindle the romance. Don’t. The fact of the matter is, because you’ve chosen to lie down with dogs, there’s a good chance you have fleas and I don’t want to catch them (and that may be a best-case scenario — there are things that are spread by lowering your inhibitions that don’t wash off if you get my drift).
You needn’t worry that I’ll start hitting the single bars where the Republicrats hang out — all that flashy, loud music and their collective shirts unbuttoned to show off their gold chains (of slavery); their feeble attempts to ply me with fancy drinks that are really only grape Kool-aid … no thanks, that’s never been my scene or I would have never gotten involved with you in the first place.
Rest assured when you try to woo me back with your pathetic apologies and feigned contrition — eager to make up, you’ll find that I’ve moved … the kids and I now live in the rEVOLution; they’re in for the long haul and committed to staying true to the Constitution and not just the candidate. Then you will be forced to realize that the cute young thing was only interested in your money after all and was off at the first hint of loss to greener pastures because that’s what happens when you trade your beliefs for a moment of fame.
So, this is it — the end; but we’ll still have our memories won’t we?
Filed under: Guest Columns | Report Bad Link
Bookmark this post in Furl or Del.icio.us