from American Digest:
If you wish to alter or annihilate a pyramid of numbers in a serial relation, you alter or remove the bottom number. If we wish to annihilate the Progressive pyramid, we must start with the bottom of the pyramid: the Progressive in the Street, and stop tilting quixotically for the “higher ups” so called, all of whom are immediately replaceable.
The Progressive in the street who must have Progressive policies to live is the one irreplaceable factor in the Progressive equation. When there are no more Progressives to buy Progressive policies there will be no more human traffic in Progressivism. As long as Progressive need exists, someone will service it.
When I was a Progressive I lived in one room in the Native Quarter of Washington, DC, and I was fashionable in the Progressive way. I had not taken a bath in a year nor changed my clothes or removed them except to stick a Progressive politically correct thought every hour into the fibrous grey wooden flesh of my Progressive skull. I never cleaned or dusted the room. Somebody paid by Progressives was supposed to come and do that for me. But they just took the checks and did nothing. Like me.
Empty promises for a utopian world and other mental garbage piled to the ceiling.
Light and water long since turned off because everyone was getting a check and didn’t have to work at the power plants or waterworks.
I did absolutely nothing. It was the Progressive dream of paradise.
I could look at the end of my shoe for eight hours. I was only roused to action when the sand in the hourglass of Progressive promises ran out.
If a former friend who was not a Progressive came to visit – and they rarely did since who or what was left to visit – I sat there not caring that he had entered my field of vision – a grey screen always blanker and fainter – and not caring when he walked out of it. If he had died on the spot I would have sat there looking at my shoe waiting to go through his pockets because since he was not a Progressive he might just have some money.
Wouldn’t you?
Because I never had enough Progressive ideology – no one ever does. Thirty grains of Progressive heroin a day and it still was not enough. And long waits in front of the White House.
Delay is a rule in the Progressive business. The Man is never on time and the check is never quite big enough.
Progressivism is the Methadone of political philosophies: You don’t get high. You don’t kick it. You just stay on it.
This is no accident.
There are no accidents in the Progressive world.
The Progressivism addict is taught again and again exactly what will happen if he does not score for his Progressive ration and vote for the Progressive pushers. Get up that slavish belief up or else.
And suddenly my Progressive habit began to jump and jump. Forty, sixty grains a day. And it still was not enough. And I could not pay.
Because I had no money. Just Progressive Government script, which the Progressive government was not accepting.
They knew what it was worth.