Yesterday morning, as part of a reconnaissance mission prior to this year’s War on Christmas (© Fox
News Outrage Channel), I ventured off the estate, masquerading as a irritable, middle-aged white man. For my disguise I used clothes from my closet and, uh… my face. I wanted to get a genuine feel for the area, put my finger on the pulse of the town, so to speak. I went to the barber shop.
Long story short, as far as intelligence gathering goes, I pretty much came up empty. Some highlights:
One of the barbers is a big Donald Trump fan. He thinks the Donald is saying all the things people want to hear. I suppressed my gag reflex and nodded sagely. Customers and barbers alike concurred that we don’t need any more foreigners in Amurka, especially here in Misery.
One customer, a loquacious and jowly man, said he would like to see Ted Cruz come up in the polls, since he was really the only “true conservative” in the race. I hadn’t been expecting weapons-grade stupidity so early in the day. I had to slip into the bathroom and do some breathing exercises to keep from having an anxiety attack.
When I returned, the topic of conversation had turned to Hillary Clinton. Whiteface Hill. Hillz. The Hildebeast. There was unanimous agreement that she represents a grave danger to all that is decent and holy, and it doesn’t matter who the Republican nominee is, as long as they beat her. I held my breath and waited for my opportunity.
It came when jowly voiced his concern that “some people are more interested in electing the first female preznit than they are in the damage these liberals are doing to the country. They already elected the first black preznit, and look where that’s got us.”
I commiserated. “Exactly” I said. “But I don’t see how she’s not the next preznit. She’s going to collect every vote Obummer did, plus she’s going to grab a bunch of the female vote from whichever Republican wins the nomination. I don’t see how they can stop her.”
The barber shop actually went a little quiet, and several people kind of shifted in their seats and glanced around like they smelled a fart. I watched jowly’s eyes go a little dead as the logic of what I had said sank in. One of the barbers nodded his head and allowed as how that sounded about right, as much as he hated the thought of it.
After a minute or so, jowly came back with one of those made-up-on-the-spot statistics about how 62% of the country thinks Hillary is an outright liar, and maybe that will stop her, but everyone there could see his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t say much after that, just paid for his crew cut and left.
I took his place in the chair. I don’t know if the barber was onto me or he just had the shakes from a hangover, but he nicked me twice shaving around my ears and neck.