A Visit To The Swamp

I recently had the pleasure of getting some tickets to one of my favorite comedians, Bill Burr, in DC. I was excited to see the new material, and looked forward to the trip to a new venue on the east coast. As a frequent concert and performance-goer, I enjoy seeing new venues and especially historical ones in a historical city.

It was readily apparent that the entire district is rotting.

I didn’t think much of it, but on the drive in, I noticed multiple Hillary stickers. Not out of the ordinary as most of the urban areas will vote democrat. What caught me off guard was the sheer concentrated volume of people who had signs in their cars, stickers, and signs in their yards. From brownstones to large, old colonials, they were clearly “With Her”. At one point, two Prius (Prii?) blocked the road. A two lane road, with no movement between the two cars driving side by side, holding up the progression of traffic.

D.C. has always, as far as I can remember it, been very vibrant, and therefore very diverse. The diversity has led to a shitlib society. With the last couple decades of higher education, social justice warriors, and safe spaces, the city has turned into pockets of hipsters and SWPLs that actively engage with each other as part of the standard nightlife ritual.

I asked my girlfriend to accompany me (her first comedy show), figuring we could make a date night out of it. We are actively participating in white flight to somewhere in the country to get away from the poointheloos and dindus slowly but surely infecting our once quiet neighborhoods. We got in rather early, about 2 hours before the show. I figured we could pop into a hotel bar and grab a quick drink and bite to eat. Dinner and a show, why not?

While crossing the street, my girlfriend pointed down the street and said “hey, check it out, there’s the White House”. Down the street, to the left, sat the most famous house in the land. Right on Pennsylvania Ave., a symbol of freedom.

For some reason, I was reminded of the fact that it was once bathed in the pride flag. A neutral, national symbol for all people was bathed in a flag that doesn’t represent the beliefs of all people.

I shrugged it off, as I was looking forward to the night, and I could use a decent glass of scotch to start the night off. As we entered the bar, the place looked busy, full of DC urbanites. Semi expensive suits as far as the eye can see, with power pantsuits and dresses to match. I ordered a drink for myself and my girlfriend, and I realized I’m ordering from a dindu that looks like she belongs in a toll booth. She hardly speaks English and looks like she’s weighing in at about 325lbs. She cannot understand me, due to the language barrier, so I point out what we’d like, trying to figure out what sort of food I can get her to understand that we’d like.

I’m at a loss, so I attempt to bring her coworker over. She’s a slender white woman, looks to be Eastern European. She has a thick accent and is able to understand me, which is a benefit. Our food order gets placed and I look next to me in an attempt to get the rather portly white guy in on the “get a load of this place” shtick. He is glued to his ipad, headphones in, watching CNN and breathing heavily. He’s enthralled by a Trump speech, shaking his head and muttering “what a fuck up” under his breath. As he wraps up his customary heavy-breathed two minutes of hate, I ask him what he thinks of the election.
“I think this guy has no place in politics. There’s a certain way things are…done around here.” He looks at the bartender and orders another beer and dessert.

“What do you mean?” I ask, with a suspicion of knowing where where this is going.

“I work for a senator. Things were going so well, with Clinton, then W fucking up, now Obama. We have it made here. What do you do?” he asks.

“I’m in medicine.” I say, wondering what his response will be. “Are you in pharmaceutical sales or insurance?” He asks, hoping I’d pick one.

“Nope, treatment.”

“Shit, you’ve got the short end of the stick, don’t you? Things are tough for you guys because you aren’t being treated fairly. Treatment isn’t where the money is, am I right?”

I’m hiding my disdain for this conversation already.

“Well I got into medicine to actually help those that need it.” I’d love to troll this guy, but I don’t want to ruin my own night.

“Hey man, suit yourself. You’re wasting your time if you aren’t in insurance right now. Obama’s healthcare plan is slowly squeezing out all the….”

I’ve tuned him out. He isn’t saying anything I don’t already know.

I’ve realized something as I reflect on this night. It’s taken me a few days to figure out what it is. These people are scared. They’re scared of DJT cleaning house. The New Gettysburg Address made it abundantly clear, in hindsight.

That district has been a cesspool of corruption for a long time, and now it’s time to clean house. The cucks and the shitlibs, the representatives, elected officials, the assistants, the lobbyists. He’s a threat to each and every single one of them. Between the Wikileaks email dumps and the Project Veritas videos, the ship is sinking and the rats and cockroaches are fleeing.

In an ideal world, the media would pay just the same. This, however, isn’t an ideal world. I lump the internet in with the media because they can have the same effect, better or worse. The recent internet outage is evidence of that. The Russians will get blamed, but we all know who threw that switch. The recent media merger attempts are widely publicized and the God Emperor’s campaign would ideally shut that down. It’s going to take years for the cable news networks to fix their reputations after the collusion of political figures and journalists as we now know it. Women like Donna Brazile are essentially without skills and once removed, will have no purpose in society once Trump is in office.

It seems the American people are starting to wake up. Trump was and is that alarm clock. On election day, get out and vote. Police your polling stations and wear red to ensure people know you’re voting Trump.