Every so often in moving around Chico I wade hip-deep through the swamp of moonbats that any California college automatically generates around itself.
Down at the Saturday Farmers Market, there have been the inevitable moonbat card tables of their communist causes. One of them is staffed by insane people who want to convert others into their strange “Contrails are killing us” conspiracy church. They are easy to bypass.
Not so the “Stop the Republicans’ Power Grab” table manned by some of the worst socialist nomenklatura in town. Last Saturday they had one of their bipedal insects standing in front of the entrance willing to tell anyone how wonderful Gavin Newsom really is. He’d tell you this as the smoke sodden stench of a burned to the bone California blooms in the wind.
He stopped me and started to blather. I needed to buy a loaf of bread and some fresh peaches before spending an hour at the range and had no time for moonbats. I held up a hand in a brief pause in his blather, looked into his eyes, and said (I don’t know why),
“You don’t want to be someone we remember.”
Shut him up and increased his blink rate.