I live in Wasilla, so have gotten used to dealing with wingnuts.
There didn’t used to be so many of them, but their women get pregnant early and often. Many have families with over ten children. Between the Alaska Permanent Fund Dividends (12 X $1,600), and state assistance for home schooling seven of the kids (7 X $2,700), a typical large wingnut Christianist family of twelve pulls in over $38,000 per year in tax-free state assistance, even if both mom and dad are working. And they’re fixing to make it better for them, you betcha.
I call it evangelical welfare.
Today I’m in the waiting room at the local medical clinic, waiting to have the packing pulled out of a wound I’ve been dealing with. The TV announces Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez’ demise.
People actually cheer.
The guy reading a year-old issue of Guns & Ammo in the chair next to me loudly mutters “Good riddance, you fucking commie fascist!”
“Did he do something to you?” I ask.
“Didn’t you see Red Dawn? That was about him!”
“The old version of the movie, or the new one?” I return.
“Whaddya mean, old – new? It’s all the same.”
“OK.” I reply. ”You don’t think he was a very good president, do you?”
“Fucking president!? He was a goddam fucking dictator. Do you know how many people he killed?”
“A lot?” I ask.
“You don’t know shit, do you?” He’s trying to scope me out at this point.
“Maybe I don’t know as much as you do,” I retort, “but I speak Spanish and read articles in the Latin American press. Was Chavez worse than the guy he replaced?”
I reiterate, “Was Hugo Chavez worse than President Larrazabal?”
“Uh, Goddam right he was….”
“How about President Chalboud?”
“Did Chavez kill him too?” the guy asks.
“I doubt it. But maybe al Qaeda killed Chalboud and Larrazabal, to make way for Chavez? You wouldn’t put it past them, would you?”
“Hey! I’m beginning to like you.”
Someone at the reception desk calls my name. I get up and shake the hand of the Chavez critic. ”Who do you think would be a good successor of Chavez for Americans?”
“What…..success … or.. what….?” he queries.
I finish with “Nice talking to you,” as I amble off to get my blood pressure taken.
Anyone have a similar story?
flickr image by Philip Munger