(By Cyril Blubberpuss, Conservative-American)
To JD Adams (JUSTIN@JDGUNSANDGEAR.COM)
Dear JD:
It seems a day cannot pass without my reading about some patriotic American or another getting railroaded for dropping whatever they're doing, doing copious amounts of research on right wing sites and social media, taking time off of work, traveling hundreds and hundreds of miles and seeing to their accommodations only to find themselves swept up in the moment of an antifa riot then getting railroaded by the fuzz and the Man (Yes, I know some hip words. I stay in the loop.).
Reading these stories gives me PTSD on a variety of fronts. Speaking for myself, let me start by saying I was at the Woodstock festival. No, not the stupid sequel in 1994 where they charged an outrageous $5 for a bottle of water (If I was there, I would've charged ten) but the original one in 1969. I was a brash adolescent that year and when I found out that thousands of hippies were going to invade Max Yasgur's farm in August that year, well, I couldn't stand by and do nothing. What would I tell my kids, I'd asked myself, considering I'd some day find a woman I could talk into having my progeny.
So, when I realized it was going to be held in the middle of August, I dressed in my least conservative business suit, confident I could infiltrate the hordes of long-haired, liberal scum without being detected as a proud young conservative. So I had my father's chauffeur drive me to Saugerties, New York in the company limousine, fully confident I'd blend right in.
However, far from it being a liberal invasion, I quickly deduced that those hippies were there at Yasgur's invitation. That's when I truly saw red. I was fully prepared to confront Yasgur who was, by all accounts, a conservative Republican who supported the Vietnam War like any good armchair quarterback would in those days. He was a traitor, a turncoat!
Anyway, I waited and waited for Yasgur's arrival but that wouldn't happen for a couple of days and, I admit, I got distracted in this Waiting for Godot experience. I was soon surrounded by teenage hippie scum about my age. One stuck a strange cigarette in my mouth that made me hungry and another named Wavy Gravy placed a purple dot in my mouth that he called "acid" (which, thankfully, didn't burn me.).
Before I knew it, I was seeing pink elephants floating through the air, all with the National Republican Committee logo on them, which helped me feel less alienated. Oh, and I was naked, for some reason. I imagine my business suit and tie is sitting in some aging hippie's closet or being sold at a yard sale in Ames, Iowa by now.
Anyway, next thing I knew, a whole day had passed and I woke up in a small pup tent while some little naked blond kid was playing with my toes, a burnt banana peel clutched in my hand. During the evening, someone had had the presence of mind to wrap my nether regions in a Cuban flag. In fact, if you look at the original Woodstock album cover, way in the background in the upper right, you can see me throwing up on a sleeping hippie.
Luckily, that was the day Max Yasgur showed up and gave an impromptu speech to the crowd and that's when I set my plan in motion. I found a plastic cup somewhere and filled it up with my urine. then I got as close as I could to the stage and threw it at Max. Unfortunately, he'd finished his speech by then and a huge gust of wind came and blew my urine back all over me.
I hadn't shaken off the effects of the acid and the Saugerties Police Department found me stumbling down a farm access road, naked again. The booking experience was quite a humiliating one, let me tell you, and the only thing that even comes close is Arlo Guthrie getting booked for littering.
Anyway, it took my father Ambrose's lawyer nearly an hour to bail me out for nudity and disturbing the peace and that was the longest near hour of my life.
And that brings me to my baby brother Cecil's own brush with the law.
Cecil had shown great initiative by founding www.cecilsprays.com, the world's first video sex chat room. Well, one day when he was doing a quality control check on the performers we'd "acquired" from various youth hostels in Eastern Europe and housed in a luxurious abandoned sex doll factory. Cecil was in an act of self love and that's when the FBI burst into his SoHo loft as he was mid ejaculation.
I can only imagine the horror that was on the poor boy's face as he was spraying all over his monitor as the Thought Police came charging in, in what must have been like something straight out of Orwell. To this day, the poor boy cannot even sneak into the local middle schools from which he's been unjustly banned because he accidentally found his way in the boy's locker rooms, without looking over his shoulder for the police.
It's really a sad thing to see.
Anyway, my point is, Mr. Adams, that when it comes to police oppression, you have two sympathetic, even empathetic souls right here in the Big Apple. While we are far from the magnificent desolation of Utah, you have two brothers in solidarity right here who wish to God we could patronize your
gun store.
I have read the DOJ's
criminal complaint and was appalled by what I read. I cannot imagine for the life of me why picking up a bike rack that was misappropriated and misused by the Capitol police then striking them with it is illegal. It seems to me that you and others in your extremely proactive tour group had a better idea of what to do with those racks than the hapless idiots that were misusing them.
What is this country turning into, Mr. Adams, when rank and file Americans such as you cannot engage in a little legitimate political discourse with members of the constabulary while exercising two of your First Amendment rights?
My offer is this: Respond whenever you can and I will dispatch two of my firm's attorneys to West Jordan or Provo or wherever you Mormons pray in the direction of Kolob and they'll get you out of there.
Signed,
Cyril Blubberpuss, Conservative-American
