Rip Van Me

Apparently, I slept through a take over. It must have been gentle, because even I, who can admittedly sleep through everything, would recall hostility. 

A sleeping curse perhaps?

Most people don’t “appear” to be zombies (yet, it’s coming). 

So I’m confused. 

I was handed a piece of rhetoric from a man wanting my vote in the next Congressional election .

Me. The person least likely to read, much less use political rhetoric for anything other than a classroom lesson. 

The back of this piece of kindling notes that it’s time to “take back our country.”


I haven’t heard “the Redcoats are coming!”

Oh, right…. Wrong century.

I haven’t been forcibly removed from my land.

Oh, right…. Wrong ethnicity.

I haven’t been branded, sold, forced into bondage. In fact, I haven’t been harmed at all by any military or governmental force. And neither have my neighbors. 

So it strikes me that this apparent “take back” should begin in my Congressional district.

Call me Rip Van Winkle 

This pamphlet makes me laugh so hard I think I need a potty break. 

“Our borders are no more secure than they were back then.”

Back then?

Very specific.

Again, are the Redcoats on the move? And if they are, could someone ask them to bring Jane Austen? I have lingering questions about my beloved Mr. Darcy.

And if General Custer is back at it, I’d sure like to know what kind of clean eating, herbal, vegan (or Paleo) plan he’s been on to survive intact. 

Or, it could all be smoke and mirrors.

I’ll vote. I will practice what I preach. But I’ll look elsewhere.

First though, I will email this candidate and ask him:

Are the Redcoats coming?

What year is it?

May I please borrow a horse and  carriage to get supplies?  I must have been out for quite some time. 

Then, this pamphlet will get recycled. I hope it’s turned into toilet paper.


He’s talking about Ohio….

Those guys… They’re cagey. Borders. Take backs.

But terrifyingly, he’s not. He’s serious. 

And me,

Well, call me Rip Van Winkle.

And I really don’t mind Ohio.


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