The Justice of the Roosting Clintons
By Matthew Luckey
I was born in 1970, and still remember that old breed of American men: the guys who grew up during the Great Depression and fought in WWII and Korea. They were as tough as nails and had a moral character made of granite. I can still remember the quiet and stoic strength of this, and perhaps the last, generation of “real” American men. They commanded fear and respect from us young boys merely by their presence; it alone told us they would tolerate no nonsense. This was also a time in America when some children were still respectful and teachable. Most of all I recall how these men — who had struggled early on through dire poverty without asking for a hand out from the government and who faced mortar shells and machine gun fire on the battlefield — disdained talking.
They were men of action and to them talk was too easy. Anyone can talk: it is the great equalizer with such human scum. Talk requires no cost, no demonstration, and no accountability, which is why it attracts the worst types: hustlers, cowards, sissies, and ne’er-do' wells. These great men I knew as a child held themselves in too high regard to be equalized with such human scum. They didn’t talk so much because they “did:” They proved themselves with hard work and physical courage. But when they did speak you can bet everyone shut up and listened, because they knew it was important. Our true American men have been replaced by ever chirping parakeet males who will be our downfall. Our manly values and institutions have been supplanted by those of the chirper.
