Ever experienced being a traveler in a strange land?
Can’t understand the language the natives speak?
You feel awkward while adjusting to the ins and outs of a new culture.
That was the way I felt as a democrat. For some reason I was in the foreign country but I didn’t understand why.I was there simply because my mother had brought me. This especially became apparent during 9/11. I lived in New York City at the time and was effected personally by the events of the tragedy.
When Bush sent troops into Afghanistan I had friends that were so angry they took to the streets in protest. The following conservation made it oh so obvious that I was a foreigner in a liberal land.
LIBERAL FRIEND:Muthafuckers sent troops into Afghanistan. Fucking Assholes. Bush is suck a fucking ASSHOLE
AFROCITY:”But they attacked us!!! We have to defend ourselves and let them know that they can’t do this again. They killed over 3,000 people. LIBERAL FRIEND:What’s the matter with you? We can’t just go attacking countries just because they attack us.
AFROCITY: Why not? Who knows what else Bin Laden has planned for us.
LIBERAL FRIEND: (Looks at me like I am carrying a gun in a school yard, may ask to see my liberal passport at any moment)
AFROCITY: (I want to end this conversation. I am angry someone I know has died. I need to finish cleaning the dust and debris from my apartment)
LIBERAL FRIEND:Karma deserves to bite America in the ass.
AFROCITY: I find it interesting that you are a self professed atheist yet you believe in Karma.
LIBERAL FRIEND: Karama is not a deity.
AFROCITY: Touche, very well then. (goes back to watching CNN)
My liberal friend protested the strikes against Afghanistan. I stayed home and watched the country change. Every brownstone in Park Slope, Brooklyn had a US flag hanging from somewhere. Protesting as an act is something that never appealed to me- a liberals right of passage I preferred to skip.
“Days of Rage” pictures from the 1960’s looked crazy to me. Flower children, Charles Manson, Woodstock, riots… My brother was into the Black Power thing, had a huge afro that came with a hair pic permanently attached. He was about 17 years old and a bastion of black and pissed off critical thought as he sat around a card table with his gang buddies smoking pot. Angry over their plight as black men, they would play cards, smoke weed, drink, smoke weed, drink, play cards. I was continually regalled with tales of “the man”, and how that spearheaded the black revolution. Fuck the man. Fuck the white man’s war. He played a lot of The Doors and Pink Floyd. As a three year old I was amused by the whole thing, it was fun. There was always a certain point of the evening where I didn’t have to hide anymore and my brother would prop me on his knee so I could play too–and drink beer. (Which is why I may loathe the taste of it today).
That depiction was one of the good days. By the time I was six there was a clear message from my family that black people were basically screwed and I should be angry about it from birth. My brother carved his entire social identity on that notion. He became a liberal moonbat and began to involve himself in my social life. Holly Hobbie was one of my favorites. My bedroom was devoted to the character. I had the dolls, the house, the clothes including the bonnet. Brother did not approve of my obsession with Holly. She was a part of the establishment. Holly Hobbie was white and very ummmm, boho… Vermont folksy,blond hair and blue eyes, makes gooseberry jam and moonshine.
She lived alone with a cat and fed the mouse some cheese every day. You know, a free spirit who would grow up to be an environmentalist or a midwife. She was without a doubt a liberal, but Holly was definitely not a card carrying “down with the cause” black power kind of gal. Wild berries and honey with scones had very little to do with powdered milk and Spam sandwiches. His complaining to my mom about how little Afrocity was falling into a white man’s trap fell on death ears. She told him to go to school, get a job, or get out of the house. One day while insulted by my mom’s racial ignorance he was being especially nasty and unbearable. I was sitting in front of the TV watching Dream Of Jeanie, eating a bowl of Neapolitan ice cream in my Holly Hobbie dress. Dr. Bellows came on the screen. I had a crush on him (don’t ask).
“Mom, I am gonna marry Dr. Bellows someday” I declared.
“I know.” Mom answered from way back in the kitchen.
Faster than I could fold my arms and blink, my brother grabbed me up from the floor. My expression smiling and laughter at first but he got rough. “Ouch, stop that. MOMMY”
I could not believe it. He tore off my Holly Hobbie dress and I stood there in middle of the living room floor butt naked. I grabbed for the dress kicking and screaming while being dragged across the orange psychedelic linoleum. Mom came out from the kitchen and there was a battle that left scars. I had been shamed and bitten. The dress was beyond repair and that was my first encounter with a moonbat.
From the Urban Dictionary:
An unthinking or insane leftist — in other words, most modern leftists.
Moonbat can also be used as an adjective, e.g. a moonbat professor. According to the Wikipedia entry for moonbat, the word was coined in 2002 by the Editor of Samizdata, Perry de Havilland, and was a variation on the name of radical British activist and columnist George Monbiot.
Originally, the term “moonbat” was intended to be more politically neutral, and described wackos on the left and the right, but it quickly acquired its current usage of being applied almost exclusively to those on the left.
The term also references the moon much in the same way that “lunatic” refers to the insanity-causing powers of the full moon (luna = moon). Bloggers occasionally analyze the behavior patterns of various moonbat “species” as if they were actual animals, and even give them satirical Linnaean taxonomical names, such as “moonbattus berkeleyensis”.
Okay I get it. You mean like this?
Any number of irrational and hysterical individuals whose self-indulgent intellectual indolence has led them to a visceral hatred of all things western. Moonbats tend to frequent anti-globalization and numerous other forms of rallies, demonstrations, sit-ins, and the like, tend to look dirty, and can frequently be heard using terms such as, “imperialism”. The mark of a true moonbat is the total lack of perspective (i.e. “if a dictator provides free healthcare, I like that dictator” – actual moonbat quote).
Hmmmm. I got it!!!
Absolutely frightening. No wonder I never liked demonstrations. I have always fought their attempts to convince me that my country sucks. At first glance, they seem to be concerned with what’s going on around them. Purposeful and social in nature. Outdoorsy types reveling in the smell of trees and grass (cough, cough). They seemed normal but as I interacted with them, something unnerved me. It gnawed at my brain like a rat and was intensely liberal in nature. Then it came to me. They are always angry. Bitching seems to suit them well as they never want to see both sides. Diversions are created in order to avoid coming up with pragmatic solutions.
I began to avoid, treated them well in every respect. The sight of John Kerry sickened me. I lied and said I voted for him just to appease my liberal friends. Conflicted, I did not vote at all that year. The assault and moonbattery grew during the Democratic primaries of 2008. Forget having any sort of realistic dialogue. They had a skewed portrait of democracy and free speech. Speech was free as long as it was what they liked to hear. Do these ghastly moonbats honestly represent the entire left wing?
Stay Tuned and we will find out.
Autographed Letter Signed,