Rush Limbaugh thinks President Obama is conspiring on behalf of black people. Tom Tancredo thinks Rick Perry is conspiring on behalf of brown people. Frank Gaffney thinks Chris Christie is conspiring on behalf of Muslim people.
Everywhere, a conspiracy. Being a modern conservative apparently means living in your own personal Da Vinci Code. It sounds exciting, in a way: you always have to be on the lookout for things around you that look like crescents, or crafty scientists trying to make you believe crafty science stuff, or government programs that are just one small step away from socialism. You never know which food stamp program is going to finally send us into Red Dawn territory, or which state God will get really pissed at next. You never know if tonight will be the night that a homosexual seduces you into their deviant lifestyle, or which day you will finally receive a knock on your door from three burly men informing you that the U.N. now owns your house because Agenda 21-something-something, and every time you purchase any product with a multilingual instruction manual, you always have to skim through the other languages to see if they're talking about you behind your back.
It sounds exciting, but also exhausting. There are far too many separate conspiracies to keep track of. I know I myself can only keep track of two or three secret plots at a time, and I usually prioritize local plots far above international ones. Right now, for example, I suspect our chickens. Of what, I don't know. But... they're out there. Waiting. Plotting.
Today was the first day of September, but the August news doldrums show little sign of ending quite yet. Fear not: soon, there will be presidential debates as far as the eye can see. Primary season will start, and quickly end again, and then crews will begin the cleanup work on whichever candidate survived and needs their public image re-polished because of all that crazy stuff they said to win over the base. Circle of life, ebb and flow, et cetera.
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