I don't meet many wingnuts in my liberal, urban habitat, but I meet some. Often there's an argument about the war, and finally I got so upset the other day with one in-duh-vidual that I just kept drilling in with the same basic question:
When will you have your fill? How many? Is there a number that tips your scales? Is there a number that makes you wrong? Is it years? Bodies? Dollars? Are you still right? There must be a number. Will it ever be enough to help you see the pit of ruin you have dug? Are you still right? Are you always right, no matter what?
An amazing thing happened. He stopped talking. Suddenly, I heard birds and wind in the trees and children playing in the park. It was beautiful.