Story Sent in by Gemma:
This occurred just last Friday:
I liked Liam's profile essays, so I wrote him a message to say hello. He wrote back with a nice email and ended it with, "I know this is a bit forward, but would you like to meet up for coffee? Might as well see if there's an in person connection instead of waiting for it."
I didn't see why not, and we made plans to do just that. At this point, I should mention that I used to be a Jon Huntsman supporter before he bowed out of the primaries, and now I support Mitt Romney.
At the cafe, we sat down with our drinks and he asked me if I had caught the GOP debate the night before. I had. He said, not yet knowing who I supported, "If Dirtbag wins the nomination, I'm going to vote Obama, swear to God."
"Who is 'Dirtbag'?"
He gave me a look. "Who do you think? Romney. Dirtbag is as dirtbag does." I was silent, and he saw right through it. He asked, "You're a Dirtbag supporter? You? Really?"
I replied, "I support Romney."
"Oh. Dirtbag. Got it," he said with a smile, "You support Dirtbag. No problem, here."
I repeated, "Romney. Who do you support?"
"Uh, Newt. Duh."
I gave him an are-you-serious look, and he asked, "Do you believe in God?"
"Newt is the anointed one. The guy's practically a saint."
I asked, "Isn't he kind of morally bankrupt?"
Liam laughed long and hard, then said, "Dirtbag propaganda. Newt has powers beyond comprehension. He gave us a house majority and forced Clinton's hand on everything. He's the most well-read out of any candidate ever, and he's a master at accomplishing the impossible. He's touched. I can't think of a better role model for Americans. Can you?"
I opened my mouth to list the hundred better role models who immediately came to mind. Liam interrupted, "And don't mention Dirtbag. He's beneath contempt."
I suggested, "What say we put politics aside?"
Liam said, "Works for me. You concede your loss and we can move on."
"Excuse me? Concede my… what?"
Liam repeated, "Concede your loss. In our little debate, here. Concede your loss and we'll talk about whatever you want: sports, life, the weather, anything. Concede your loss."
I gave him a hard stare. "I didn't lose anything. We just talked about the candidates. There was no debate."
"You need to listen to yourself," Liam said, "You're not making any sense. Concede your loss. Simple. Easy. Not hard. Easy. Concede your loss." He smiled such a sanctimonious smile that a large part of me wanted to slap it right off of his face. At that point, I could've cared less about who he supported: it was his way of talking to me, like I was an infant, that riled me up.
I said, "I'm not conceding anything. There's nothing to concede."
He stood up and extended his hand to me. "Excuse me, please. I have someplace else to be at this time." I didn't shake his hand. He said, "Shake it."
I remained motionless. He repeated, "Shake it. Do you have a problem with English, today?"
I replied, "Not as big a problem as you seem to have with reality."
Liam retracted his hand, gave me a military salute, said, "Hail, President Dirtbag!" and goose-stepped out of the cafe. Amused patrons watched him go. As for me, I gathered up my bag, coat, and returned home to block his account.
Story Sent in by Gemma: