Mark Belling Calls a Hit on Yours Truly… high school hallway etiquette,the language of hawk conservativism,when will they learn? Introduction into the wild,as the laws aren’t enforced in the outlands of Africa…
I’d like to preface this with the notion that this whole incident has touched on several things in my life,past,present and future. I want to rewrite this all and add a few thousand(s) of words. But I don’t have the energy to pull out the bourbon and spend the next three hours of the morning… It’ll have to wait for the next time.
The bartender competition had ended. A lot of flash and style resulted in a lot of relatively poor drinks. An occasional tolerable fruit concoction at least provided some daily required dose of vitamin C. I was quite poor,but the bar had an open buffet of various veggies and taco dip for press affiliates. Which of course we were. I was working on social,economic,and political motives for a future post. I am poor. I am not economically viable. But before my attorney and I can begin to discuss the fallout,a nuke lands in my lap. "Mark Belling is here."
Unfortunately,I have two problems. I have to think of something relatively intelligent to talk to Mr. Belling about. Secondly,I haven’t the slightest idea what the bastard looks like. Both of these problems have solutions. Which is in of itself a bigger problem that I am well aware of. This will not end well. These are the front lines. There are casualties in the culture war. It’s time for duty.
I sit down next to the aging woman with Mr. Belling. We have smalltalk. An older gentleman introduces himself and we have smalltalk. The bartender brings me another drink along with Mr. Belling’s. He makes smalltalk with Belling. Things like "When will they learn?" and "They’re just stupid." It’s a miserable facade by a weak existence; the sort of blind obedience in the face of a bigger shit — in whatever gets you off: money,muscles,women,drugs,rape — that defines the enemy of the Culture War.
It’s testosterone fueled hate stroking of each other’s cocks. It stinks of those fundamental American-male principles of high school where the bullies are expected to beat up the weaker kids. Then it sort of hits me: this is the neoconservative voice of America on all fronts. The voice of macho strength and will. It’s a common thread in any neoconservative response to a humanist concern: the Weak and Meager must fend for themselves,and Fuck em’ if they can’t take a joke. Maybe what’s needed is to try communicating with their voice. Perhaps all this time they just haven’t understood my language of common sense and verbal communication.
I walk back to my attorney and explain that I won’t be coming back. This is a one-way ticket,and I’ve got no illusions of what politics in this league will lead to. I take the seat next to Mr. Belling and introduce myself. Be cordial,be civil,think quick. It should be enough to throw his schizophrenic view of reality off-axis.
I rarely listen to your show,Mr. Belling,but I have heard a few things. I don’t appreciate what you’re doing,and you’re a racist. You’ve degraded the human race with your hate-speech. But,being a true American I thought I’d extend you some honesty.
It was not met with a very intelligent response. I didn’t think it would.
"Why don’t you get out of my face?"
"That’s not very nice,Mr. Belling. And after I was being so honest."
The owner then came to intervene. Apparently,due to Mr. Bellings various rants against any sort of humanist viewpoint,he’s angered the union/labor community who bombards him with death threats,no doubt in retaliation for what they see as nothing short of an assault on their dying jobs,income,and livelihood for them and their families. Perhaps I’ve just hit a nerve in the middle of that ongoing situation.
"Do you have a problem?" He asks.
"No, I don’t think so. I don’t think Mr. Belling likes me very much, though."
Well,it’s time for me to leave. He grabs my arm and attempts to shove me in the direction of Exit. I brace myself,and ask "Does Mr. Belling pay you to keep people away from him?" Time for at least one journalistic question. How much money does Belling throw around at his local bar on booze and cigars? How many women’s souls has he bought?
"Are you insinuating something? That’s a loaded question!" It was talk show rhetoric. A pathetic response.
"You can say zero if you want; I’m just curious."
"It’s time for you to go." And with that,he shoves me back into about five thugs waiting for me. They grab hold and pin me. He takes my hat,throws it forcefully back off into the bar. The thugs all begin to shove me back towards the door,and the owner grabs my sunglasses & prescription glasses off my face. The thugs awkwardly force me backwards,ignoring my protests that I can’t leave without my glasses. I grab hold of something secure, and reiterate that I won’t be leaving without my glasses. The thugs have had enough of this "talking" — especially from this weak liberal — so it’s time to tap dance on my face. A few jabs,no one’ll notice. I’m laughing and smiling; jab after jab I continue to ask for my glasses, and I’m not moving anywhere. At one point a thug steps over while I’m on the ground,and takes a good whack at my jaw. I smile,spit saliva mixed with blood,and ask "Is that the best you can do you liberal pussy?"
They pick me up,and two thugs are holding my arms behind me. A third thug is busy not listening to my inquiries,and would rather take another shot at my face again. After minutes of thugs,this guy somehow thinks his jab is going to solve anything. It doesn’t,I continue on,asking him when he’s going to get my glasses,asking him if he’s on Belling’s payroll,and if my glasses would be sold to fund his campaign.
The owner is there,and he and the thugs claim once again that it is time for me to leave. Apparently,they didn’t like my first answer. I don’t know what made them think I’d do anything different. The thugs make the mistake of letting me go. Up to this point,I’d been taking blow by blow,having a good time knowing that they’ve spent all this high school bravado proving why we should Support Our Troops,why Liberals are Fags,why we’re bombing some arab idiots into the stone age because they don’t love Freedom. They just keep throwing punches at em’. That’ll teach em. But it doesn’t. They just don’t learn.
I notice the owner is wearing glasses. I am still not wearing mine. Hm.
Time for an object lesson in simple economics: the barter system. I make a quick move,and go for his glasses: a quick jab with my left to make him duck down,and a sweep up with my right hand and I grab his glasses off his face. He never saw it coming. I hold on tight,knowing the thugs’ll have fists flying.
Just as planned,they’re unhappy that I’ve done what they’ve least expected.
"You can hit me all you want,but you’re not getting your glasses back until I get mine."
Then it somehow hits them. Common sense. A moment of clarity. Who knows. I not only get my glasses back,but my sunglasses and even my hat. I hand back the owner’s glasses. More likely they’ve just grown tired of attempting to beat sense into me. I’m clearly a lost cause. They shove me to the ground out the door,and I get up,brush off,and thank them for a good time.
"How about a handshake?" I ask. "No? Oh. Well,Jesus would be disappointed in you."
Then I turn to the video camera,and ask rhetorically "And why not?"
This video camera has been on at various points in and outside of the bar. The whole incident is on tape: Mr. Belling,the Owner,the Thugs,the punches and mob mentality on a guy without his glasses. The case for assault is blindingly clear. And there’s Mr. Belling,smiling at this little scrap getting pummeled by a few of his Good Ol’ Conservative boys.
But what’s really interesting is the predictability of this whole thing. Was there any doubt? No,none. The voice of those who say such prophetic things like "War is Hell" with such zeal and tearful pride that their dicks get hard. They see an Arab walking down the street as a terrorist with an AK. They don’t see an American citizen. They see Freedom as their own personal Nigger. Holier,Bigger,Tougher than Thou. They see death,and they cheer like dogs and call for more.
Bring It On.