How I deplore your liberal elitism

A Tory ruffneck expounds

Shot, chaser, and the whole damn bottle.

The insufferable elitists of the liberal-socialist Democrats hath roiled my blood! That I may tell you without constraint how angry this makes me, I have dismissed the young lady whom my editors assigned to render my prose more proletarian; for I have no need of Fleet Street legerdemain to prove my commonality with the hoi polloi.

I was born the scion of a humble Darien, Connecticut psychiatrist and her husband, who spent his days tinkering in his defense-contracting shed. Though their combined income was only in the low millions, we had no cares, for we had love, piety, and a well-diversified stock portfolio, and would not have changed places with such internet tycoons as fund the Democrat Party for all the tea in China — which, as it happens, my great-great-great-great grandparents once owned. (My family owe our reduced state to the missionary zeal of one of my forebears who got religion and made unwise public endowments, which is how I learned that the only true religion is that which does not ask the rich to part with their heav'n-endowed wealth. Thank the Lord conservative megachurches have learned this lesson as well!)

I attended the schools of my forefathers, from Fairfield Country Day to Harvard Law, but the placements I might have expected there as my hereditary due were made tenuous by the threat of affirmative action — so much for the tolerant left! — and I was compelled to industry, and took part in charades of public service to pad, as I believe it is said, my curriculum vitae. These make-work environmental and legal aid initiatives, and the seriousness with which my less intelligent classmates took them, instilled in me a lifelong disdain for social justice — the absurdity of which I believe is shared by blue-collar workers and other varieties of peasant, for they never speak respectfully of it, nor at all come to think of it, when I see them on TV or laboring on my estate.

In fact, whenever I encounter or fantasize encounters with the lower classes — in taxi cabs, and other such liminal spaces — I find them in total agreement with my political views, despite the claims of liberal-socialists and pollsters that such policies as I endorse are not only harmful to working people, but increasingly unpopular among them as well. Stuff and nonsense (if I may add, dude)! It is well known that the plebes do not speak their true mind to pollsters, having a natural suspicion of people who can read and write yet perversely refuse to exploit them economically, and so communicate in a sort of hobo code which the pollsters and other liberal-socialists misinterpret. When the results from the new voting machines we are now seeing installed across the country are revealed, you will see that I am right.

I trust this convinces you of my bona-fides (as the Neapolitan spawn who repair my Bugatti might say) as a connoisseur of all things lower-class. I will only add that I exercise physically with some regularity, once made a wooden shoe-tree at camp without assistance, have cooked many meals from scratch at home (I recommend Anselm Lepurite’s cuisine à partir de rien classes — pricey but worth it!), and after a glass or two of Macallan use the salty slang of the internet with the best of them. Peace out, bitches!