So here we all are, fifteen or so, half in the house yacking and face-stuffing, the rest on the patio yacking and smoking up the joint. It’s a beautiful pre-spring Saturday, sunny, clean, perfect for our gathering. It is a family thing, involving a very very ill not-so-old Grandma, and her very young grandkids sharing a very close in time b-day. Her family and assorted friends are here at her place. Suffice it say, emotional kind of day.
So, an hour or more in to the thing, half of us are out smoking like I said, and along comes the neighbor. Seen him a while back at another family thing hauling his beautiful baby, seemed nice enough, white-collar type. This time though, he’s toting one of those accordion looking brown file folders and a CD. Calmly and robotically, he takes a seat in our midst, handy folder in lap, fingers lightly drumming the opening.
A few niceties float his way without much of a response, like “heard your daughter is adorable”, which got “She’s asleep”, or something resembling. His face was blank, his words monotone, emotionless. “I.know.this.is.a.family.gathering.and.all, but….” and so begins what he was sent here to do. This day’s deal was the evils of fracking, but that’s really not the fracking point.
Ya know, political talks and debates are common at these get-togethers, sometimes getting started in earnest a few beers in. But this was different. This man, I mean hack, I mean drone, was on a mission from the leader, whoever that be, and saw this grouping of people as an opportunity to sell his wares of planetness, regardless of and impervious to the meaning of the joining and the feelings of those joined. He knew the situation, he knew the grief.
We tolerated him at the outset, thinking the outset strange of course, rolling eyes, smirking a bit, and countering. But only a few minutes it took to reveal that the drone was quest-bound. Breaking out prints of web pages, spewing stats, reading from some glossy sierra club publication, and offering connections to information that seemingly could only be gleaned thru him. This was all in his hand dandy flexible folder, don’t ya know.
It got real quiet, real fast, even among liberals in the group, but the drone was undeterred. Monotone, emotionless, programmed. Individuals politely stood and entered the house one by one until he was virtually left alone, and finally went home, but indeed, only to return briefly with a hand delivery to Grandpa of an indispensable DVD, of which he owned ten.
I tell you this story for reasons that should be apparent by now, that is if you are in any way inclined to politics or civics. There are people among us that will put their radical agendas ahead of Every Thing you hold dear, including family and country, and they will calmly and COLDLY and programmatically spew their rhetoric and propaganda, regardless of your life circumstance.
This thing truly struck me. It is a textbook example of what we face in this great country, in these times, and in the coming elections. These radical left wing drones have attached themselves so to their religion of a godless and communal paradise that they have lost all sense of humanity. It is beyond weird, it is devious, and you, to them, are a mere tool.
Sadly, the drones are American born, American made, and targeting America, stealthily, and in plain sight. They are a cult. Guard yourself and yours from being taken in, or they will win.
Note: I borrow the term “drone” from the great Mark Levin, an American, a man I respect, author of Liberty and Tyranny, Ameritopia, and others, talkshow host, legal scholar. I am unaffiliated, just a dude.