The best way to get bloodstains out of a seatbelt is to not ask any questions. I keep telling my girlfriend this, but she just storms out with a toothbrush and baking soda and says that’s the last time I borrow her Camry. My girlfriend. She’s downstairs, facedown in her phone. She says it’s not normal, me going out like this. But that’s what all you tourists say.
I need to check the dress code for tonight. You go to so many of these things you start to lose track. But here, get a shot of me in my closet. There’s something for every occasion. This is the striped button-down I wore to the Patriot March last month. Check out these pearl snap buttons and the killer, American eagle on the back. I get most of my Red, White, and Blues from Goodwill. It’s my blackout gear that gets pricey.
These here are my new fire-resistant cargo pants—jet black and they barely chaff. Perfect for jumping fences and acting natural. For gloves, I like how wool breathes, but it absorbs pepper spray like a rag in gas. Nylon will keep your hands warm, but pick up a tear gas canister too soon and it’ll melt right off.
And hey, zoom in over here… These are really special: Black Eagle Tactical boots. I’m not one of those guys who needs his girlfriend to tell him shoes make or break an outfit, so whether I’m marching against illegal immigration or curb-stomping a Nazi, these puppies are with me. It’s not cheap stuff, but you can find great deals on eBay from people selling Comic-Con gear. That’s what you tourists don’t understand. It’s not so much anarchy as it is cosplay.
Have I lost friends over this? Only the fake ones. They call me a hypocrite. They tell me it’s wrong to “play both sides.” That my ideologies contradict themselves or whatever. But what’s wrong with having a wide range of political and social interests? I mean sure, standing up to actual injustice is cool, but have you ever protested a military funeral? Don’t talk to me about virtue signals until you crash one of those with a sign that says, “Too Late To Pray.”
These fake friends. They’re the same ones who go to Burning Man for a week and then buy tickets to a Keith Urban concert. She’s a little bit country, he’s a little bit rock n’ roll. But call yourself a communist who buys Amazon stock and suddenly there’s a problem.
That’s what’s great about this new scene. They’re some real awesome people. Why, just the other night, I was head-to-toe in black, wearing my gunmetal gray face mask, taunting a couple of old Ronnie Reagans in the crosswalk. I look up and see some shirtless boar of a man galloping right for me. He’s got an Uncle Sam hat on and arms like baseball bats. And just as I’m about to pull out my billy club and whack him one, I see it’s my buddy, Trevor. I say, “Fucking Trevor, man, I thought you were playing blue team tonight.” We had a laugh and met up later for a cider. It’s not so much anarchy as it is community building.
The best way to get mace out of your eyes is to have a canister of milk handy.
My girlfriend. She’s downstairs, sucking hot Cheeto dust off her fingers. She asks if we’re free to watch The Bachelor tomorrow night at her sister’s. I say, “of course baby.” Compromise is what makes our relationship work. She hates all the extra time I’m spending on social media, but these events don’t just plan themselves. There’s no chaos without coordination.
Plus, it takes more effort than ever to spin up an internet war. The easiest way is to argue with yourself from two separate screen names. Just have @JonnyAmerica_69 tell @marx_carl54 to pull himself up by his bootstraps. Drop that piranha in the public pool and the choreography creates itself. I’m not saying I deserve a Tony Award but imagine building a production where the audience is so moved that they just walk onstage and read their own lines. It’s not so much anarchy as it is avant-garde.
My girlfriend. She says if I applied myself at work the way I do with this, I’d be a lot further along. And I’m like, sure, getting a promotion is cool, but have you ever got someone fired over a joke they made in high school? If you can bend someone’s past into their present, does that mean you control the future?
The best way to make a movement mainstream is to name it after something that’s impossible to disagree with.
I’ll tell you what really salts my apple is that me and my friends don’t get the credit we deserve. Half of you think all this is Russia or something. As if there’s some foreign oligarch seeding dissent from across the sea. Please… This is all out of pocket for us locals. Here, get a shot of all my protest signs. I’ve got everything from “Anti-Vaxxer” to “Silence Is Violence.” I’ve got “My Body My Choice” and “Let God Plan Parenthood.” You think Russians wrote this stuff? Don’t forget, whether the sign reads, “Eat The Rich,” or “Stop The Steal” the poster board and markers got bought at Target.
That’s what you tourists always overlook. You don’t need to know what way the wind is blowing, you just have to follow the hashtags. That’s something I learned from watching politicians: The best way to stay on the right side of history is to always be changing sides.
Another thing. This term, “activist.” Why does tap-dancing to Top 40 on TikTok make you an influencer, but somehow I’m just an activist? I mean, sure, having your followers use a code at checkout is cool, but have you ever made a movie star apologize for something they never did? I’m no Robert Chalidini, but if that’s not influence…
The best way to turn a protest into a riot is to adjust the camera angles.
My girlfriend. She’s downstairs, sprawled across the couch in just a T-shirt and panties. She’s got a body that could make a Victoria’s Secret mannequin cry. The type of package that makes your friends forget they’re your friends when she’s around. But I’ll be honest, we’ve been better. The election really put us on the rocks. She wasn’t surprised when she caught me stealing ballots. But she just about packed her bags when she saw how I was splitting the votes down the middle. I told her, “Listen, baby, these elections only happen every four years. You don’t want to see a 1st-quarter blow out do you?” I mean, sure, watching your candidate win by a landslide is cool, but have you ever made half the country question the very fabric of democracy?
Internet trolling and election meddling is a nice way to spend a Saturday, but it’s the live events that make it all worthwhile. And living here in SoCal, you can catch multiple events a day. I’ll hit the boardwalk in my Red, White, and Blues. Sing the classics like, “Build The Wall,” and “Keep America Armed.” We crank some Nugent and crack some Coors, like a big 4th of July BBQ. But once the sun goes down, it’s an easy Uber ride to the “No Justice, No Peace” block party. Just throw on your gas mask and a black hoodie and you’re good to go.
The best way to buy bricks is by the pallet.
There’s just something about being out there with real people, ya know? Like how a movie is funnier when you see it in a packed theater. Like, limbic resonance or whatever. I mean, sure, seeing the Foo Fighters is cool, but have you ever chanted, “The Only Good Cop Is A Dead Cop,” in unison with 500 of your new best friends after setting a squad car on fire? Spend a few summer nights doing that and tell me Coachella isn’t overpriced.
My girlfriend. God bless her. She’s downstairs sitting like a rock in front of the TV, dumb as a clubbed seal. I keep telling her the news will rot her brain, but she’s got the volume turned up and she’s yelling. “Baby, baby! They’re talking about last weekend. They’re calling it an insurrection!” I grab the front of my fire-resistant pants and say, “I’ve got your insurrection right here.” She says she hates those jokes, but I know she loves them.
Last weekend. Oh, brother. Even I’ll admit that got a little out of control. You expect to bash some heads and have some laughs at these things, but none of us expected it to get that crazy. As in, crazy fucking awesome. I mean, sure, March For Our Lives was cool, but have you ever stormed the capital dressed as a minotaur?
The best way to paint an American flag on your face is to hold a half-smile.
My girlfriend. She’s pacing down there. Prancing around in those panties. Looking hotter than a Molotov cocktail. She’s yelling up the stairs, “Shit, shit. Baby, your face is on the news!” I tell her to take a photo. It’s corny, but I got this whole collection of news clippings and screen grabs. Call me sentimental, but a man reaches a certain age and starts thinking about legacy. It’s not so much anarchy as it is audience growth.
My girlfriend. She’s telling me there’s a TV crew outside and sirens in the window. I tell her to flip the Black Lives Matter sign on the front door around to the side that says, Blue Lives Matter. She says they’ve got the place surrounded.
The best way to plant a pipe bomb is to do it the night before.
Well, it looks like I won’t be making it to tonight’s event after all. You’ll have to find someone else for your little documentary. But just know this: I see you. I see the way you think things are. You forget that every hero is someone else’s villain. And whether you like it or not, you have a part to play in all of this. Maybe you’re an actor, maybe you’re still sitting in the audience. But don’t worry. We’re in this together, you and me, and one thing’s for certain:
We’re going to get so many views.