You will never, ever, no matter how pithy the one-liners you’ve been practicing in message board arguments and how shit-eatingly confident your approach, convince someone of the opposite political opinion that they are wrong. About anything. No matter what.
The inevitable conclusion of bar politics
You will never, ever, no matter how pithy the one-liners you’ve been practicing in message board arguments and how shit-eatingly confident your approach, convince someone of the opposite political opinion that they are wrong. About anything. No matter what. Ted Kennedy himself could descend from the heavens riding a chariot made of welfare checks and buy a round of Cape Codders for the bar and the conservative baby you’re talking to who is scared of the browns stealing his money and aborting him in the ass still wouldn’t change his mind. Same rules apply for the opposite end of the political spectrum (replace Teddy with Reagan and Cape Codders with moonshine and baby formula).
This is especially true at a bar, where people are their most unreasonable. And yet on three separate occasions this week I’ve come across people trying really, really hard to do just this. Is there anything more taxing than listening to two bush league Olberman and O’Reilly understudies rehearsing for their big break in the “Who gives a shit?” debate?
Here’s a good line I heard from one fat dump today when the talk turned to World War II (incidentally, the only event in history Americans have even a vague grasp of because, you know, Nazis and “‘Merica gettin’ ‘er” done for freedom). This guy looked like a Hershey kiss, a floppy combover twisting off his head like the little white wrapper on the candy.
[Hershey Kiss-shaped turd orders Pinot noir or some other French sounding thing.]
EARNEST LIBERAL PUSSY: As a Republican, I’m surprised you speak French.
HERSHEY KISS-SHAPED TURD: I actually like French WWII memorabilia. I bought a bunch of French rifles cheap. Never fired, only dropped once.
ELP: I just think everyone should be able to get health care.
HK-ST: What you want to do then is spread the wealth. Oh wait, Obama is already doing that.
Imagine saying that? In earnest? Like you’re scoring points. “Look here pal, I’ll learn you a thing or two….”
And just so we don’t think I’m defending the liberal here, this dude was pulling some weird facts out of his ass, like made-up science fiction shit. Apparently Boston has the highest infant mortality rate in the world, so we need national health care — except we already have mandated health care here in the state for everyone. But dead babies, dude. Argue with that.
That’s the type of thing you do when you are arguing with someone about politics though, mostly because you are not smart on your feet (“you” meaning everyone but also, in this case, you in particular). You make shit up that sounds like it might be true, then just keep repeating it until someone gets karate-chopped in the trachea.
Speaking of engorged tracheas, I found myself in a political argument at a bar a couple weeks ago with an honest to god conservative in Harvard Square, which is pretty rare. It’s like seeing a fat, old unicorn at the end of a diarrhea rainbow. Things started out friendly with my man here, but after a few drinks he started talking salt at me. Then I got into the military being a bunch of murderers and everyone from Dick Cheney to this guy himself being war profiteers who make money off killing babies.
Then it got weird. Although I should have known all along that something was off when this smug white-haired old hump was asking me personal shit about whether or not my parents molested me (no comment). I pretty much assume anyone I am talking to at any given time wants to fuck me, but in this scenario I was so blinded by political rage that I didn’t even see the American Beauty style twist coming.
Long story short: This guy hates me but he’s still giving off a weird stalker vibe, like he likes what Luke is selling and wants to maybe get to know a little bit more about me, penis-wise. I excuse myself to the bathroom, and he promptly follows me and tries to come into the stall. “I have to admit buddy, I did not see this one coming,” I say.
Now it’s not the first time this sort of thing has happened to me, obviously, and normally I would just play it off like a reasonable person. “Sorry dude, not interested.” Unless I was really drunk, then, you know, whatever goes. But the way this shit went down with the guy hating my face so hard five seconds earlier and me getting the feeling he might literally shoot me or call up some Marine buddies to do it, then moving toward the old what-have-you in a bathroom stall sort of freaked me out.
Anyway, here’s the point: Every single conservative asshole you have ever met is a self-loathing homosexual who wants to kill you.