In the parking lot of a local college I saw a window sticker that I’d forgotten, a grainy picture of George W. Bush with the treasonous slogan: “Not my president.” As a southerner who believes Sherman brought with him the terrible and just judgment of God, I can’t help thinking that anyone who says this about a sitting president has earned himself a swift kick in the rear and a one-way ticket to Iceland.
In the other corner of his window, of course, was the hideous Obama/Biden sticker, which looks like something one gets when the color cartridges in one’s printer start to give out. I don’t suppose this twit takes kindly to the new crop of twits who, in a fit of me-too secessionism, have printed up their own “Not my president” stickers.
Knee-cap the whole lot of them, I say.
I know, I know, free speech and all that. I suspect amidst all this free speaking, however, we’d get a darn sight better speech if every so often some overly expressive dolt got himself beat like a redheaded stepchild.
The thing is, he is your president, you insufferable little nimrods, and so was the last guy. What, you think you’re a sovereign nation? No, you’re a citizen of the United by-God States of America, for better or worse, like it or lump it. Because legions of people nobler than you suffered and bled, you have the liberty to self-actualize with bumper stickers to your little heart’s content, but remember this: we protect that liberty not because you have anything worthwhile to say, but because we can’t rightly forbid your saying something stupid without also forbidding the saying of wise things by your moral and intellectual betters.
If only I could figure out how to put all that on a bumper sticker.
