On President’s Day
Here’s my thought on today, which I offer in passing: when we get back to having a President of the kind envisioned by our Framers and ratified by those who ratified the Constitution, then I’ll celebrate President’s Day. What I won’t do is celebrate “Faux-charismatic, Marxist-Manchurian-dictator-surrounded-by-a-phalanx-of-communist-acolytes-and-the-protective-cocoon-of-a-state-run-media-Day,” even if that makes me a really racisty racist who hates him the blacks (except for a few notable Uncle Toms, like Thomas Sowell, or Clarence Thomas, et al., who aren’t as authentically black as, say, Bill Clinton or Chris Matthews). Because I’m racist and such.
Frankly, I’d rather live marked as the latter than live under the former, because far fewer people would be hurt by such an arrangement — and the country would survive my hateyness, absorb it, and spit me out into dust for my dirt nap as if I never existed. Whereas Obama and the permanent ruling class’s attempts to remake a republic into a kind of post-modernist aristocracy, where the people are subjects and the governmental agents, elected, appointed, and otherwise, are their de facto sovereigns has far wider reaching implications, and far more dire consequences.
So. I’ll celebrate Washington’s Birthday. And Lincoln’s Birthday. But I’ll never bow before Zod. Ever. At least, not while breathing. I suppose upon execution I may slump and give the appearance of bowing, but that isn’t the same thing. Intentionalism trumping perceptual interpretive paradigms again, you see.