It’s Day 235 of The First Ohio Shutdown and Day 171 of Race-O-Rama.
Deb and I are ok. Pretty pooped, actually.
Clearing the last of the stuff out of her father’s place has been quite the struggle. I’ve been focused on the garage, which I finished last week, and an unimaginably cluttered basement. I think I have the remaining debris cornered with no chance of escape. I’ll tackle that tomorrow.
I’m gonna keep today’s post simple. I want to address two subjects, and I’ll try to keep it fairly brief.
All over the country, governors are issuing new WuFlu orders. Masks in public are the least of it — many actually presume to dictate to born-free Americans how we’re to conduct ourselves inside our own homes.
Wear a mask. Keep your distance. No touching. Each member of the household must isolate in their own area within the home.
It’s truly Orwellian. What’s more, it’s un-American.
And get this — some of these decrees actually prohibit gathering on Thanksgiving. What the hell kind of elected official gives orders like that?
A better question is this: What the hell kind of self-respecting American would obey them?
As I thrashed around in the basement this afternoon, Deb was upstairs doing the same. Each of us, once we’d collected a manageable load, made a trip to a now-overflowing rented dumpster parked in the driveway. Over and over, trip after trip.
While making one of her dumpster runs, Deb was approached outside by a door-to-door proselyte. A black man in his late 20s or early 30s, it appeared he was dropped off in the relatively affluent neighborhood like carloads of young sellers have been for as long as I can remember.
My quick-thinking wife told the guy she didn’t even live there. He moved on to the next house.
Now here’s the thing — he wasn’t selling magazines, vacuum cleaners or Jesus. What was he pitching?
Black Lives Matter.
You think about that.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #OhioAgainstDeWine
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