I get old. I remember things. It comes in handy at times like these.
When I was working on the railroad in Alberta (cue banjo music) back in the 80's, there was a guy on the crew. (Note: there is ALWAYS a guy on the crew).
On first sight you could have mistaken him for an accountant or a desk clerk instead of a railway navvie. He was balding, florid faced, tall and thin, almost always dressed in extremely neat workduds, almost always with a rather preoccupied and serious and businesslike look in his eyes. But it took only a cursory conversation with him to establish that appearances were deceiving. He was indeed rather simple minded even by the low standards of railway work crews.
A buddy had a convo with him soon after he arrived at our camp. After the convo I asked my buddy what the FNG was like. He just shook his head.
"Y'know how he ended our convo? He said 'I'm gonna tie my shoes now'... Like he was making some newsworthy announcement..."
Somehow this doofus learned that I was from Quebec. This seemed to activate a feeble misfiring schema in the poor guy's underperforming grey matter. Whenever he'd see me on the crew or worksite he'd launch into a diatribe about "Quebec Mafia" and how they were nefariously dirtydealing under handed conspiracists who controlled lotteries, the weather, and government (though he used mostly one and two syllable terms).
The other guys on the crew found it HI-larious (especially the other Quebecers).
It got pretty tired pretty damn quickly.
I put up with it until I realized something. This guy really believed that I was part of some shadowy evil and all powerful cabale and there was no way that I would ever convince him otherwise.
He simply did not have enough mind to change.
So one day on the bus, heading back to the whitefleet after a 16 hour day, as he launched into his diatribe about how the Quebec Mafia were responsible for spoiled milk, or rickets or some-such, I got up in his face.
I told him that - yes indeedy I was a bona-fide card carrying member of the Quebec Mafia, and that if he didn't shuddup about all our super-duper double plus secret activities then all of us Qubec Mafia types would descend on his bony ass and do unspeakable French-Criminal type things to all he held near and dear.
Whenever I saw him after that he was always walking away.
What does this have to do with Andrew Breitbart?
Well, it looks like the tin foil fedora moiety of his supporters are already beating the drums about how his death may be part of a super secret black ops Crypto-Kenyan double-plus ungood Mojo-ranger thang set up by Obama...
And so I am here to say, and I will say henceforth to every one of these fellows that I encounter on these internet tube thingies...
That everything they say is yes, indeedy, true.
Breitbart is one of our ops. We did it.
With our all powerful little hatchets.
And if they don't shuddup about it we're gonna come around to their houses and do unspeakable socialist French stuff to all they hold near and dear. So they should turn off their computers, reset their foil, crawl under their beds and whimper....
Gee, that felt good... Thirty years later and I still got it.