One Small Step.

Revelations come when you least expect them. The bowling alley was busy. In the adjacent lanes, seven African Americans — six men and one woman — were as enthusiastic and competitive as any professional athlete. They laughed uproariously. And, playfully, they baited each other as friends do. Then you overhead one of them say, “Let’s write down who we’re votin’ for; and after election day, the losers buy the winners lunch.” Jackson immediately piped up, “Well, hell, we all know who’s gonna win.” Cackle. On the drive home, the analogy appeared instantly, like a splattered bug on the windshield. African Americans are psychologically enslaved to the Democrat Party in much the same way as an abused wife is shackled to her coercive spouse. Countless women — victims of every imaginable brutality — make every imaginable excuse why their spouses are not at fault. They believe, in time, things will improve as they learn to behave in ways that don’t provoke violence. They believe, in the long run, love will conquer these aberrations. Things are bound to get better. Friends and family beg them to open their eyes, to see reality. The police explain that patterns of abuse always continue, that life for battered women never gets better until they sever the relationship. For decades, African Americans have likewise refused to face the reality of a failed relationship. The Democrat Party has played them like suckers at a carnival booth. And like abused spouses, African Americans are more aware than anyone that their devotion has remained unrequited. Nonetheless, they make excuse after excuse, loyal to the big lie. They follow black leaders who like nothing better than leading this angry, bitter underclass, and preaching to the underclass that the “enemy” stacks the deck against them. African Americans know the score but they can’t psychologically break the chains of their dependency. They understand how to behave under this dependency. They have a comfort level with this dependency. Like the battered wife, they will  sleep with the enemy they know rather than risk being set free to make a new life with one they don’t. But wait a minute. Think.  One or more of your black bowling friends must be planning to jump the ship that never goes anywhere. Else why would someone suggest that the losers pay for lunch? Losers. There have to be losers. This is big. Granted, it’s the tiniest of samples; but if just 2 of the 7 choose the Trumpster over Hildabeast, that 26 per cent would represent a cosmic deviation. If 26 percent chose to escape from their masters, you would finally see some evidence for the advancement of the human race.  If 26 per cent walked out the door of their captivity, you would gratefully borrow those indelible words: “One small step for Man, one giant leap for Mankind.” This time, a step taken on Earth. Yes, you’re engaging in fantasy or, at best, wishful thinking. Similar to believing you’ll eventually roll a perfect game.

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