Diary: "Bernie, Bro!"

The James Cromwell-lookalike with the siren spent a good hour following around and drowning out pro-Trump speakers (for a frail old player he was effective boxing out in the Paint, I mean Hate). I broke away from him here and from across the square I see this guy heckling Trumpenproles and I can’t help but mess with him. I didn’t even realize the extent to which we were talking past each other there until watching this later.

I don’t know that he and his friend there count as true Bernie Bros. They were bystanders, not involved in the counter protests. I think the first kid was trying to describe himself as a nihilist.
I’ll lift my response from the Big Lebowski, wherein the Dude, seeing a man passed out in a cuckold’s luxurious swimming pool, empty fifth floating alongside, described as a “nihilist”: that must be exhausting.

Things were starting to get more hectic at this point, so I turn into a sputtering prick. Re-watching this I have to suspect I start stuttering and making no sense precisely at the point I say “Israel” because I’m chickening out. A few people were gathering around, fixated on what I was saying. I was flattered. I don’t even care if they thought I was nuts. But the looks on their faces didn’t suggest that. They suggested something else. I mean, we’ve got people ranting on the street here everyday. This was something different.

So here I am standing in my town’s central square raving about the myth of terrorism and Israel. I always knew it would end this way.

I’ll manage it better next time.

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