Diary Of An Open Carry Freedom Fighter & Tax Theft

We were a few miles outside of Barstow when the Bitcoin started to run out. If we were to enjoy the liberty of Pabst tonight, we’d have to use fiat currency. Thankfully, I don’t leave the trailer without my long gun tucked into my pants and my AR-15 strapped to my back. No thug statist is going to rape me while I capitalism.

As we walked into the Kroger, I tilted my fedora ever-so-slightly to the right because both parties are the same. By dressing like a detective from the ’50s, I’m telling my fellow citizens that I’m the proverbial good-guy with a gun, there to protect them from the voices in my head. When ISIS shows up, they’ll be sorry.

Any tax is theft.

We glide past all of the communist beers for people with functioning taste buds. Blocking our way, right in front of the urine-esque beverage of choice, is a feminazi. I approached her with one hand on my gun and the other lovingly caressing my AK.

“Why do you feel the need to wave that thing around in public?” She obviously failed to understand the Constitution on the same level as myself and was probably a lesbian.

I responded with the most well thought out retort I could muster. “STRAW MAN!!! Gold and weed! Ron Paul 2016!”

Girls don’t understand complex political subjects. The mere mention tends to make them physically ill. That’s why every time I talk to one, they end up literally gagging. The poor feminazi was so stricken by my scathing response, it almost sounded like she was laughing.

Regardless, she was out of the way and my lawyer and I could participate in the commerce that makes this country better than all of the brown ones. We grabbed two sixers and charted a course for the checkout.

Kroger wouldn’t allow us to pull ourselves up by the bootstraps and use the self-checkout lane. Something about not being “allowed” to buy alcohol from a robot. As if a free man needs permission from the nanny state to do anything. It’s just as well. The self-checkout machine wouldn’t have benefited nearly as much as the cashier did when I explained how the tax on the beer was tantamount to the government stealing my hard-earned wealth.

If you’re still reading this, you’re likely wondering if there’s a point to all of this. The answer is yes. There is.


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