Where Did My America Go?

America is gone. It kind of fizzled without much fanfare. Everyone came out to look when they heard the car skidding, and quietly went back inside. I know there are many who will adamantly disagree with me: Onward and upward, never surrender, glass half full and that sort of stuff. I have two words for them: Normalcy bias.

The truth is there is no going back. You can’t reach down and yank an entire society out of socialized medicine. You can’t tell people that their kids shouldn’t idolize Lady Gaga swaggering around in a bacteria-filled meat dress. You can’t criticize American boys for trying to jump their girlfriends because they’ve been watching Beyonce pumping her butt in the air for hours. You can’t call homosexuality perverse because your friend has homosexual neighbors and “oh, those boys looks so cute walking hand-in-hand down the street.” How could you be a hater and not a lover?

And while the powers that be have successfully weaned many kids off tobacco, you can’t turn around and tell them they can’t have their weed and heroin; that would be cruel. I mean jeez, what’s left?

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You certainly can’t tell them that their “tats” are an outward plea for help, simply a muted way of cutting oneself. No – the lady that plays the church organ has the cutest rose tattoo on her ankle, and positions herself so the congregation can see it every Sunday. How can there be anything wrong with that? (Who would have thought that people who choose not to disfigure themselves would become a minority?)

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We walk a fine line between complete anarchy on the streets, police brutality, and a military state. Frankly I don’t trust the street thugs or the police; both make me equally nervous.

And if you want to see how society goes mad, watch how people drive – angry, aggressive, breaking all the rules. They want you out of their way, and if they have to kill you to get to the store two minutes faster, so be it.

You turn your engine off at a McDonald’s drive-thru because the girls inside are chatting and don’t give a rat’s bum how long you have to wait. If you comment on poor service anywhere — from the doctor’s office to the supermarket — you create a potentially dangerous enemy.

Our television is filled with torture, corpses, shocking sexual assaults, dismemberment, necrophilia, homosexuality, and pedophilia – all under the heading of “entertainment.” And if you want to know how to poison someone, watch Lifetime Movie Network, they crack open a capsule in someone’s drink on almost every show. If that doesn’t work, a good shot of potassium in a syringe will do the trick.

Never mind, while you’re watching that, your kids are killing, killing, killing on their video games. “It’s okay – they’re only killing the bad guys,” you tell yourself. Then you’re surprised when someone walks into a crowded (fill in the blank) and opens fire like they’re taking out targets for points.

You can always escape by snuggling up with a good book. A nice little S&M read might do the trick. No reason to turn red reading “50 Shades of Gray;” that would mean you’re frightfully old-fashioned.

On Friday night, the drug stores are filled with people in line getting their cases of beer so they can drink themselves into a coma in honor of the weekend. It used to be just the kids, now it’s the 50-and-60-somethings. Sunday morning coming down, they get up to mow their lawns instead of observing the Sabbath.

Not that churches are that relevant anymore. Most are just social groups that gather to hear the New Age, positive thinking, 12-step-program “how to feel good about yourself” tripe. Many pastors have become nothing more than stand-up comics. Thank goodness they dropped all that offensive teaching about hell. (And when the best Protestantism has to offer is people like Joel Osteen, Rick Warren, Joyce Meyer, or the infamous pink-haired lady of TBN….it’s time to shut oneself in the closet and pray.)

How do you feel when you see the American flag? I get a knot in my stomach every time I see it; remembering how things used to be. Every Memorial Day or Fourth of July, I get queasy when I see the Stars and Stripes because its meaning has been denigrated by a Socialist tyrant and his minions hell-bent on the country’s destruction. (And where I live, they seem to yank it down to half-mast every other day. I used to think a head of state had passed away or some great national tragedy had occurred; now it can just mean that the state’s favorite court stenographer has died.)

I remember being proud of our military before it became overrun with lesbians and homosexuals. I think of all the blood that was spilled only for generations of young people to become so brainwashed with liberal propaganda that they actually cry themselves to sleep contemplating the effects of global warming or marriage inequality.

It disturbs me that good people everywhere decided to go to football games; paint their faces orange or put cheese on their heads and willingly ignore the slurping noise of their country being flushed down the toilet. I’ve watched men and women who know more about sports than current events; people who shouldn’t be allowed in voting booths.

The new ruling elite wants our guns, and they will eventually get them. They can do it in the blink of an eye and the stroke of a pen. (The state wants to know my height, weight, eye color and address just to purchase pepper spray; meanwhile illegals are selling Tasers on the street.)

I’m a racist, a homophobe, and a bible-thumper…a backward piece of trash that needs to be eliminated…at least that’s what they tell me. I’m a racist because I think black hip-hop culture has destroyed the youth of America; I’m a homophobe because I think men sticking shot glasses in their rectum and showing up in the emergency room is a mental problem and not a “lifestyle choice;” I’m a bible-thumper because I try my best to follow a set of rules laid out in what many consider an archaic book. I’m an Islamophobe because I don’t think there is a need to differentiate by using the term “radical Muslim.”

I’m also a domestic terrorist because I refuse to put on my Gandhi diaper and walk away peacefully. No matter, the thought police know my heart, and that is all that really matters…they know my sympathies lie with those old radical scraps of paper called the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.

I guess I’m just a bad person who is increasingly in the minority. The good people are taking over: The people who care about the earth, who put solar panels on their house and pray to their Green God for the icebergs to stop shrinking; the good people who love homosexuals, abortion, injustice, and especially freedom — for everyone and everything illegal or immoral.

Sometimes the light turns green and nobody moves. Four lanes of traffic on each side and the drivers seem paralyzed. These are the scariest times, when the lemmings all react the same way, caught up in some kind of purple haze in the middle of rush hour. These are the times you start to wonder if all those lines in the sky the day before really were chemtrails. Nothing seems irrational anymore.

If only I weren’t a bible-thumper; I’d know how to make a killing in business. I’d hang a “Paranormal Investigator” shingle outside my house. I’d research property and old newspapers and show up with my EVP recorder, infrared camera, and sell some poor sot a bill of goods on how they need to burn sage to get rid of the negative entities in their house and close their spirit portal.

Frankly, some days I don’t even want to leave the house. I’d rather stay inside with my memories, my morals and my flag — where the world can’t stomp and spit on them. I want to go back to a time like Oliver Goldsmith described when, “”We had no revolutions to fear, nor fatigues to undergo; all our adventures were by the fireside, and all our migrations from the blue bed to the brown.”

But there is no going back. The lifeboats are all gone and the few of us who remain are singing, “Nearer my God to thee” silently as we navigate throngs of zombies on the street.

No, I can’t give you an inspirational ending. At some point you accept that your only escape to serenity is the feeling of warm sunshine, the steadfast stars and the fresh night air, or the soothing sound of waves on the shore. At least no political, economic or social dictate has found a way to deny us those…yet.

All you can do is muddle through, cling to your faith, and feel blessed when you are given the opportunity to help someone along the way. The rest is up to God.

Susan D. Harris can be reached at http://susandharris.com/

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