Why Obama Won Nothing in November

[High Praise! to According to Hoyt]

A long quote from a longer piece by Sarah Hoyt on why the power-mad liberals will have trouble exercising their mad powers:

But, listen, the problem with these sons of… Babel is that they might be American, but they’re not American ENOUGH. If they were, they’d understand “ungovernable” and this willingness for each of us to go it alone (often for common benefit, but on own recognizance, nonetheless) is not a bug. It’s a feature. And that it’s baked in the cake of a people who came here to escape the top-down spirit of other places. Some of the black sheep (or as one friend of mine calls it, the plaid sheep) attitude is genetic, hereditary, inborn. And enough of us have it.

Push harder and we escape harder, through crevices they don’t even know are there. Forbid us from making a living, and we’ll find a way to go around you. Make it impossible to defend ourselves, and I shudder to think what some of my friends and neighbors will come up with. Make the economy impossible, and we’ll create another one you can’t reach. Make regulations too binding and we’ll either ignore them or – more likely – creatively subvert them.

They captured the flag, and they think they captured the nation. It’s the type of mistake that the bureaucratic mind makes.

Poor rats. Try not to laugh at them too hard, as you go about the business of undermining them.

Unlike the serf-minded European collective, productive Americans know how to shrug.

Why do you think we left Europe?

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  1. I sure like that sentiment. Because it’s the way I’m living now.

    Screw this government. Right off the planet.


  2. I had to try and contain my maniacal laughter when I read that. Ingenuity and creativity gave birth to this great nation and that same grit it was born of will keep it alive and strong. Self governance is in our blood.


  3. We watched you building, stone by stone,
    The well-washed cells and well-washed graves
    We shall inhabit but not own
    When Britons ever shall be slaves;
    The water’s waiting in the trough,
    The tame oats sown are portioned free,
    There is enough, and just enough,
    And all is ready now but we.

    But you have not caught us yet, my lords,
    You have us still to get.
    A sorry army you’d have got,
    Its flags are rags that float and rot,
    Its drums are empty pan and pot,
    Its baggage is – an empty cot;
    But you have not caught us yet.

    A little; and we might have slipped
    When came your rumors and your sales
    And the foiled rich men, feeble-lipped,
    Said and unsaid their sorry tales;
    Great God! It needs a bolder brow
    To keep ten sheep inside a pen,
    And we are sheep no longer now;
    You are but Masters. We are Men.

    We give you all good thanks, my lords,
    We buy at easy price;
    Thanks for the thousands that you stole,
    The bribes by wire, the bets on coal,
    The knowledge of that naked whole
    That hath delivered our flesh and soul
    Out of your Paradise.

    We had held safe your parks; but when
    Men taunted you with bribe and fee,
    We only saw the Lord of Men
    Grin like an ape and climb a tree;
    And humbly had we stood without
    Your princely barns; did we not see
    In pointed faces peering out
    What Rats now own the granary.

    It is too late, too late, my lords,
    We give you back your grace.
    You cannot with all cajoling
    Make the wet ditch, or winds that sting,
    Lost pride, or the pawned wedding rings,
    Or drink or Death a blacker thing
    Than a smile upon your face.
    – G.K. Chesterton



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