The Sun Came Up

By John Connor

Late October 2016: I found myself facing two distinctly disparate yet strikingly similar events. Both featured cackling witches, prancing goblins, masks concealing true identities; fake superheroes and mindless zombies; promises of cheap treats and playing of cruel tricks, followed by messy mornings-after.

One was Halloween. I got through that just fine, and enjoyed it. I was an eager, enthusiastic, even a valued participant. The other event was the national general elections of November 8th. The witches were uglier, the goblins more ghoulish; the tricks were nastier and there were no “treats” at all. I did not feel like a valued participant. On the drive home from voting I passed a small cemetery and wondered how many of the dear departed had already voted by absentee ballot.

At home base we declared an “Election-Madness-Free Zone” early on the 8th. No TV, no internet — and put our phones on mute. Whatever was gonna happen would happen, and might have very little to do with actual living, legal citizens of the United States of America casting their votes, and maybe more to do with pre-stuffed ballot boxes, not-so-mysterious “glitches” in voting machines and inexplicable electronic counts.

We had been told loudly and stridently by “experts” who would and must win, and win in a presumed landslide. We chose to light the grill, scorch some beef, then spend a quiet chilly evening sippin’ drinks, gazing into a fire and not entertaining “what-if?” questions. I took the phones off mute about 0230. A waxing half-moon rose under an arc of glimmering stars. The skies were not on fire. I thought, well, that’s good, and turned in.

The Morning After

I’d intended to sleep in a bit. Not happenin’. My son was shouting on the phone. “Dad! Turn on the TV! Go on the ’net! They’re cryin’ like babies! You gotta see this! It’s fantastic!” I had to cut him off and ask what had happened. Then I looked for myself. Wow. It was true. I had missed “the end of the world!” during the night, but the videos were viral. Across the “mainstream media” spectrum, there they were: the nation’s sophisticated, elite, urbane, self-proclaimed intellectuals; predatory politicians, alleged “journalists” (actually just unregistered lobbyists), and social commentators, most weeping rivers of tears and spewing gobbets of snot, choking in disbelief. Melted makeup pooled in puddles on talk-show tables. Some simply stared, goggle-eyed, lookin’ like they’d just been whacked in their foreheads with a knacker’s mallet. Others, shaking their fashionably coiffed heads, clenched their soft little fists in trembling, childish frustration and rage, and stuttered “No! N-N-No! How could this be?”

Simple, ya buffoons: While you were high on hair spray and dizzy from puttin’ a hard left spin on events and calling it “news,” we were simmering. Yeah; us, the folks who fix your fancy cars, who make sure your lights come on and your toilets flush. We, who truck your food, entrain your high-end appliances, install your climate-controlled wine cellars. [News Flash: We don’t resent your material success — We resent your attitude toward us.] We, of the small towns and stable little cities; of the vast unincorporated areas in the “fly-over” states; the people who, when you weren’t ignoring and overlooking us, you continually — and falsely — accused of racism, sexism, misogyny and yes, sheer stupidity if we didn’t vote as we were told we should. You’ve blamed us for every tragedy and travesty in human experience from slavery to shin splints, and you didn’t think we’d eventually get sick of you?

I think I might speak for millions when I say this election wasn’t about Left versus Right; it was about Looney-Tunes Left versus NOT-Looney-Left. And it wasn’t really about “our” candidate versus yours. I think a toad in a tutu coulda run for president against your sacred cow and carried 30 states. It was more about these two things: Your ideology and your arrogance; your anti-Americanism and your superciliousness. Against the massive power, influence and money of government, Hollywood and the media, all we had was our votes — and we used them. You’re lucky it wasn’t rope. You can only sneer and jeer at workin’ folks so long before we strip off our work gloves, put down our wrenches, turn off our drill presses and poke you in the snoot.

Meantime In America

Violent crime continues to drop everywhere Americans are lawfully armed, and self-defense is a recognized natural right. Conversely, murderous violence continues to rise in the urban strongholds of “commonsense gun control” and the Nanny State. None of the Hollywood hotshots who swore to leave the country if their Anointed One lost the election have been seen draggin’ their Gucci bags over the border. Sniveling, whining overgrown toddlers are still weeping in their university campus “safe spaces,” coddled by witless professors-of-whatever. The nation, I think, needs several million pair of one-size-fits-all Grownup Pants — but with built-in diapers. You “experts” lost, to which I simply say, “Well, boo-hoo. Grow up.”

What happens now? I dunno. Long, long ago in a galaxy far away, taking fire in a helo jinkin’ like a bat on crack, a door gunner smiled and yelled at me, “Bes’ strop yerseff in tight, sargint! She’s gon’ git reeeaall BOMPY a’fore she smooves out!” He fired a burst, turned back and grinned, “Iffen she DO smoove out!”
I’m hopin’ she do smoove out.

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4 thoughts on “The Sun Came Up

  1. Rudy Waranka

    C onner, I hate computers. The last one I had I tore the circuit boards out of and threw them in the fireplace, then I took out the hard drive and struck it (repeatedly) with 150 grains of 270WSM, but I felt the absolute compulsion to respond to “The Sun Came Up”. So I got the missus to fire up her “magic box” and with her adult supervision I am being allowed to send you this comment! You, sir, are one prosaic, articulate son of a gun. 10 hits in the X ring. I always did like you, now I like you even more. Bravo and well done. As we said in the 9th Infantry—“KEEP UP THE FIRE, SIR!”

  2. R. Laprevotte

    I’ve never previously read American Hand Gunner magazine but after reading Mr. Conner’s treatise I found reason to subscribe. Well done sir, and tighten them thar seat belts cause the “experts” put their make-up back on, and having learned nothing, are back at it !

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