If it’s one thing we conservatives are known for, it’s our adorable perkiness—face it, we’re as cute as a giggling toddler in a puppy costume holding a cupcake. Long ago my worldview was planted forever firmly on the right when I saw various photos of bubbly characters like Winston Churchill, William F. Buckley, Milton Friedman, and Barry Goldwater, and would feel the strange urge to just jump into the pictures and squeeze them like giant Charmin.
Sadly, my adorable perkiness gets challenged every day, often more than once. When you’re a politically-engaged Rightie, and people like Barack Obama and Nancy Pelosi have the keys to your TV, it’s like you have a standing invitation to a fit of rage. Also, unlike liberals, hopeless alcoholics, and assorted mollusks, we P.E.R.’s tend to have good memories. I could go a full day without any outside contact, yet I’ll still recall with great clarity one of the many instances of Obama breaking promises or talking down to people far better than he, and almost devolve with anger.
So what is there to do about it? How does one maintain a sense of calm sweetness in a political environment constantly sledgehammered by liberals? Without using narcotics?
Speaking for myself, and probably millions of other extremely intelligent handsome patriots, I’ve managed this by tweaking my train of thought. When I start to get angry, one thing I do is a little Seinfeldesque exercise, where I turn my focus to other annoyances, the everyday ones that are certainly not disgraceful like the stuff we get from Democrats and in fact tend to be a little amusing. Example: one day I heard a repeat performance of Obama’s Woolworth-cheap claim that the economy would’ve been worse if not for his spending. (Back-up excuse: “Republicans got me drunk before I promised that whole ‘under 8%’ thing.) Just as I was about to fog up my car windows with the steam coming from my ears, I thought back to my recent visit to a major chain drug store. My entire purchase consisted of 2 boxes of cereal, and I truly am not kidding when I tell you the receipt was 20” long. Yes, TWENTY-EFFING-INCHES-LONG. I could only chuckle at the ridiculousness of a retailer stuffing a two-item receipt with so much extraneous crap (“how was your visit?”/upcoming promos/company motto/chapter from War & Peace) that it ran the distance from my hand to my shoulder. I then had a bigger chuckle at the ridiculousness of a busy guy with a job and a family breaking out the measuring tape and holding a cereal receipt against it.
Another example: thumbing through my video collection the other day, I passed by my copy of Fast Times at Ridgemont High and found myself thinking about the God-awful, dictator’s butt-kissing tool who starred in it. (I’ll clarify it was Sean Penn, but if it turns out Ray Walston used to play backgammon with Pol Pot, he’ll be right up there too.) So, just as I was about fume again about Penn’s telling Oscar viewers that I and other Californians shamed all of our present and future relatives, I quickly turned my attention to something else going on in the world of entertainment. It seems that studios in Hollywood, ever the stalwart example of original thought, recently got back to the practice of grabbing older, standard format movies off the shelf and re-releasing them in 3-D. Every time this happens I can’t help but picture (no pun intended) meetings of executives from the studio’s marketing and production departments. In the newest one I have them deciding to make Smokey and the Bandit the latest cinematic victim of the makeover, which leads one of the execs’ naïve little flunkies to raise his hand and ill-advisedly ask a logical question: “won’t the public find it silly to pay to see a 3-D movie that lacks the frequent head-on camera shots that make 3-D movies fun?” Of course, by the time the kid realizes the mistake he’s made it’s too late. The boss at the head of the table shoots a menacing look at him that would make a drill sergeant faint, presses a button in front of him, and a gruff stuntman-type emerges from a side door and violently removes the helpless gofer from the room.
So please feel free to try this yet-uncopyrighted exercise the next time you find yourself losing your huggability at the hands of a Democrat. If it helps in your visualization, the bouncer in my pretend meeting is played by Hal Needham.
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