iNfiltration

The insidious effects of Fakeberg, Twatter, and Instasplooge are now being felt all the way out here in God’s Country, South Cackalacky. Earlier today, my brother called to tell me that, in the course of running various errands in his big old F350 diesel pickup, he came across a young college-age white girl standing out by the back-country roadside on what was presumably her parents’ front lawn. The doot-brained bint was grinning and waving at passing motorists, holding a home-made sign that read “Honk if you support a free Palestine!”

Instinctively, without a moment’s pause, my brother jerked the steering wheel to swerve the grill of the truck at the kid as if he intended to run her over, giving her enough of a scare that the vapid grin on her mug died of fright, and she even took three or four steps back away from the two-lane rural blacktop road. This was sufficient confirmation that the message of Jeff’s fervid non-support of “a free Palestine” had been imparted and received, so he flipped the girl the Hawaiian Good Luck Sign, continued on his way, and called me up to laugh about it a few minutes later. Throughout the incident, he assured me, he made certain there could be no mistaking his position on the issue of “Palestine” by keeping both hands well away from the horn button in the middle of the steering wheel.

It WAS pretty funny, but as the conversation progressed we both wondered aloud just where this kid had gotten the idiotic idea to protest “for Palestine” out on her parents’ front lawn. As I repeated in a text-message conversation with an old girlfriend later, where the hell were the girl’s mom and dad while their presumably cherished progeny was out playing in the road on a holiday weekend like that, anyway? Did they even know? Did they maybe, Heaven help us, actually support this ill-conceived project to elevate the thinking of their less-evolved knuckledragging neighbors?

I submitted that, almost certainly, the parents were what I refer to as “Charlotte carpetbaggers”—liberal refugees from the crime-ridden, expensive, and overcrowded shithole that our neighbor to the north has become owing to an influx of like-minded New Yorkers, Ohioans, and New Englanders fleeing the Left-wing “utopias” they'd created in their hometowns, thereby rendering those once perfectly livable locales unfit for human habitation. Affter all, where we live has traditionally been the habitat of hard-core Southern rednecks and good old boys; out here, it pays when driving to keep an eye well-peeled for country kinsmen riding horseback along the shoulder or farmers driving huge John Deere tractors or combine harvesters down the center-stripe (if any) at a blistering five (5) miles per hour.

Impromptu demonstrations soliciting support for the plight of the poor, suffering Paleosimians? Not on your life, pal. Not around these here parts, nosirree BOB.

So what happened, then? How is it that even denizens of Redneckville, SC, justly famed as the Cradle of Secession, now find themselves harboring such boll weevils in their very midst?

Which is when Wendy put forth a most astute observation: It’s the internet, social media, podcasts, and “influencers” behind this not-welcome infiltration, she said. In her own words, “They don’t need to think for themselves ‘cause everything they need to know is on TikTok."

She’s right about that, I think, which to me is a kinda scary thought. It’s almost enough to make me wish my brother had just gone ahead and run the girl over for reals, then backed up over the smushed-flat fleshly remains a cpl-three times, just to be sure. Y’know, pour encourager les autres.