Spotted At Bedford Avenue & North 7 Street: LaRouchebags

This morning I awakened in a state not unlike the previous four before: tired. However, there was one crucial difference this time around; I was also very, SERIOUSLY, cold. Neither a whiff nor a sputter of heat was to be had. Not that the “girls” (as I call them) seemed to mind; they were quite perky. Yes, gentle readers, winter has arrived at Chez Shitty. With a two titty salute! But I digress.

The rest of me got up, made a pot of coffee, threw on some thermal underwear and mulled over what I was going to do today. Given the choice between being miserably cold indoors and miserably cold outdoors, I decided the latter was the more palatable option. So I took a walk.

Before I proceed with my story I would like to point out that unlike a number of people, when I feel like being left alone I leave my apartment. Sometimes I need a break from the rigors of my inbox. It is on our city’s not-so-mean streets that I find much-needed solitude— with one notable exception: Bedford Avenue.

Perhaps it is due to the fact I am “old”, bereft any noticeable tattoos, piercings and/or a hangover that I fit the “profile” of someone who gives a shit (READ: a registered voter). This is the only reason I can muster as to why I attract any and all canvassers with a clipboard/hucksters with cause— however laudable or insane— along this strip.

What transpired this morning is no exception. But this time I was ready.

Ever had one of those moments when something inside of you snaps and you break into peals of prepubescent-esque giggling? Well, that is what happened when I stumbled upon the above juxtaposition of a Pabst Blue Ribbon delivery truck…

and a table staffed by two 20-somethings spreading the good news about Lyndon LaRouche.

LAROUCHEPSTERS!

I thought to myself. And doubled over into another (albeit self-induced) fit of demented cackling.

Call it sleep deprivation (it probably is), but I found their poster calling for the impeachment of Barack NERObama (sporting devil horns, no less) and the above item (I’m not happy with our current Commander in Chief— but a Hitler mustache— REALLY?) utterly hilarious. My amusement did not go unnoticed by the chaps staffing said table either:

Me (laughing): Aw man!

Do you know the similarities between Barack Obama and Dick Cheney?

The LaRouchepster asked. To wit I replied with a smile:

No, I just didn’t know LaRouche was out of jail.*

(silence)

When I called the Mister to tell him about my merry-making, I mistakenly called these folks Libertarians. He corrected me as follows:

They’re LaRouchians. That’s even worse.

THE END

*Actually I do know this. However, admitting as much would have spoiled all the fun! This post is dedicated to Pa Heather.

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