An American Commie Liberal Fable
* For Timothy John Ignatius Havens, "America" in a very close fitting- tier of this metaphor;
For Janine Ley Havens, "Liberty," likewise very close-fitting in one tier of my metaphor;
For Garrett Havens, "Conservative," most closely fitted in one tier of metaphor;
May I always love each and every one of you more than a Star Wars night light and a Commie friend.
And I send, as this is most certainly a political story, my fondest wishes to *every other* Libtard out there in this world, to never mistake money from the government for love, nor to ever think the house of Liberty and America is worth shredding because Conservative offends you when you talk about homosexuality or Hispanics. My fellow milennials, with all my love, because this whole story is about us, and with one more delay, since we all love video games, a quote:
"You have but a small sum of gold, your wits, and a little bit of luck. The roads ahead are infinite, and all the decisions are yours to make. So choose wisely. Good luck."
There was a rich man once in old England, his name was Libtard. He was very rich and spoiled himself immensely. His handlers took care of everything, including his fine horses, whom he named Conservative and Worker.
One day he thought to take his friends Commie and Soc for a ride down country lane! It was so fabulous, he couldn't imagine! He was scared of the feral wolf population, but he had no real reason to complain-- Conservative and Worker were well maintained by his handlers, a full family of his favorite people called the Rothschilds!!
Well, Conservative and Worker were tied to the carriage, and Libtard and his friends Commie and Soc drove out into the countryside, knowing they'd be back in Old England's Castle, where they had loyally resided through storm after storm as a family since 1777 for centuries!
And they drove and they drove when Commie leaned forward and said, aghast, "Soc! Does not Conservative seem very rude in the way he looks back at you when you bring up equality?"
And Soc said grimly in a hot, superior tone, "Why yes! I do not think Conservative understands that we are his equals."
And Commie said hotly to Libtard, "You simply must cut out Conervative. He is not respectful."
"Well," said Libtard slowly, "My good horse Conservative, I am afraid, has never understood that sort of thing. Not since I was a kid."
"Well," said Commie angrily, "anyone can understand how to handle Equality. Let him understand or let him go."
"Aw, shucks, good sir," said Libtard slowly. "He used to make fun of me when I was a kid. Let me tell the poor sap goodbye, and I am quite sure we can get along without him."
Libtard slowly brought the carriage to a stop, and got off the carriage. He dismounted, and let the horse go. He was in terror, letting go his old friend, for he had ridden him often as a child. But now there was simply nothing to be done. He had an allegiance with his Cuban and South American friends to keep, and what did Conservative have to do with his new values? Besides, Conservative was a creature of rolling plains of the past, and fields and meadows, and could never understand civility and higher concepts like shared resources between comrades.
Conservative was very doleful, and eyed Libtard with big eyes. He knew how to get his food off the land, he could just eat the grass, so Libtard whipped him, but Conservative would not go.
Commie got angry. "May I shoot him if he continues to support impeding the road?" he hollered. "I am quite offended that he does not move!"
Libtard carried a pistol at his hip, and for a brief moment thought to shoot Commie for wanting to shoot his best friend in life. But he remembered that Conservative was blocking the way forward, and drew his pistol with a hot flourish and cocked it, made sure he was pointing it away from himself and not at either of his friends, and then... leveled it...
At Conservative, who knew by now what a pistol was and was charging into the brush.
"He'll be back!" warned Commie. "Keep your pistol close at hand."
Libtard uncocked his pistol and mounted the wagon again.
"Our comrades will want us in early," said Commie. "I am grateful we got rid of your workhorse. The other is fine stallion, and will get us there shortly."
"Yes, sir," said Libtard with a smile, but in his heart he kept worrying about Conservative. Conservative had always been such a good fellow, and had kept him warm many nights. What would Libtard do without Conservative? Wait.. what would Conservative do without Libtard's paintings? His writing? That is what Libtard had meant to think. Poor Conservative. Of course, Libtard did not need Conservative. His electric night light portrayed a Star Wars starship, and he would be perfectly fine thinking of Conservative while it was beaming up at the cieling.
Telling himself this was true... Libtard whipped the horse Worker and drove off down Country Lane.
"One day the City will make all this beautiful," said Commie. "There will be lights everywhere."
"Yes," said Libtard, but he could not help but think that he missed the nights on Conservative's back, staring at the cieling thinking of his long lost lover, Capitalism, who had died unfortunately after he accidentally murdered her with his parents' hammer during a conversation about Commie and Soc, his friends.
Still... they rode on. The sun fell and Libtard remembered that Conservative had always known every road in the county, and that he did not know them so well himself. He was not at all sure himself of how to get home, and Commie was from Cuba and knew nothing of this land.
Libtard was getting scared. "How fares Soldier?" he asked, trying to change subjects from what road he was on as Soc got angry at him.
"Soldier is fine," said Soc. "He is happy to make do with the weapons I gave him. He will have his college education regardless."
"He is not fine," said Commie. "He should have a better weapon, one the People can engineer, one only the People can engineer!"
"With what degree, really?" said Soc.
There was silence, and Commie snorted, drew out a sawed off shotgun, and blew Soc away.
"He was too much weight anyway for the way forward," said Commie.
"But Commie!" shouted Libtard angrily. "He had the ideals!"
"No," said Commie. "You do. You must get down, for it is nightfall. You must pull the wagon."
"But Soldier will come soon, and get us the help we need. He will save us."
There was an unmistakable wolf howl then, not far off.
"Stop the wagon," said Commie. "Do as I say." Commie leveled the shotgun at Libtard.
"Do you even know how to drive?" said an exasperated, hurt Libtard.
"The People all know how to drive," said Commie.
"I could fight alongside Soldier!" hollered Libtard angrily. "I am one of--"
"And so you shall!" snarled Commie. "After you pull my wagon."
Libtard dismounted and put Conservative's yolk around his shoulders. Right now, right now, God, please God, if any of Conservative's mindless religion is true, please God, please God, please God just let Conservative find me and take me home, make this nightmare end! Please God, please God let my favorite horsey be okay, and take the stupid night light where is America and Liberty my Mom and Dad? Please God, please God, what have I done? Please God, please God, I don't need a Star Wars night light I need Mom and Dad, Liberty and America, please God, please God, tell me what did I do them? Oh God, what have I done to Liberty? I kicked her out of her own house and made my father pay for being mean to Commie and Soc, and now I have nothing left, please God, if there is a Jesus, if there is a fucking Jesus, please, fuck, Jesus please forgive me, please God, please God, Mother of Mercy please.....
But all Libtard had now to do was put the yolk down. It was inscribed with its name, "Hard Work," which Conservative had seemed to want it called, though he was always silent as work horses always are, and Libtard did not know anymore how it had ever been plain to him as a child what Conservative wanted to call his yolk... Liberty and America, his parents, had never questioned him on it....
He was not Conservative. He found the going very tough. In fact, he could not draw the carriage at all. Libtard had always been a very big artist, an intellectual, a brainiac, and physical labor had never appealed to him. Now that the yolk of Hard Work was around his neck, he could not pull at all. Hard Work was just too much a burden for Libtard, and he could not get it to budge.
He broke down and cried, and the Commie shot him.
Commie untied Work and hopped aboard, firing another round into Libtard, and another again into Soc, and then gallopped contentedly off down Country Lane with his trusty shotgun, Slavery.
Along the way he came across the family of Capitalist, and recognized them as objects of enmity to him and the reason for Libtard's disloyalty. He shot them all with Slavery and moved along. The horse, Work, was getting tired, and he really had no clue where he was going, so he hopped off in terror, and shot Work.
Then he shot himself.
Meanwhile, Conservative had gallopped off loyally to his old house elsewhere in the Country, to where America and Liberty still lived, mourning the self-exile of their son, Libtard, who would never understand that that the fruit of their love could never be replaced with a state-paid Star Wars nightlight.
They were good parents, and they wept bittersweet tears for the loss of their son. His burial was not a monument like Commie had promised him. But it was his parents who buried his body, not Commie or Soc. And when they buried him in their poverty they just gave him a rock they found in their yard, and Conservative all but chipped his tooth biting a cross into the porous stone. And they did not touch that rock or that cross as long as they lived, for they loved their son, and the fields' crops they grew, and America and Liberty tilled the soil with mare who had been born of Conservative and Work, which was, always had been, and always would be, Work.
