The Only Patriot In The Neighborhood
There’s a house under construction across the street from my home in a major west-coast American city. A foundation has been poured and three tall concrete walls rise from the ground. Apart from a few new piles of gravel on the ground and the addition of black tarps to prevent runoff, the site has changed little over time. It’s been largely the same since we moved into our house three months ago.
The crew building the house is an odd assortment of people who show up sporadically to work on the place. Sometimes it’s a sole guy in a battered pickup truck. Other times it’s a dozen or so people spanning in age from around five to fifty years old, both men and women. The tools they use are archaic – a hand operated cement mixer, an ancient conveyor belt that squeals for mercy as gravel is slowly transported up from the curb, a few rusty hand saws. I’ve even seen a child filling up a plastic bucket using a playground shovel.
“How cool is that?” I thought to myself at first, when I surmised that a family was building its own house by hand. But then something disturbing happened. Yesterday I looked out my window and saw a guy wearing knee-protectors kneeling down and rocking his torso down toward the ground and back up again. He did this a few time before I realized something.
HE WAS FACING EAST!
HE WAS PRAYING!
In a flash of insight I realized that the knee-protectors and the tool belt on the guy’s waist were but props. The extended work crew was a sham. I knew exactly what was going on.
THEY WERE BUILDING A WEST-COAST VICTORY MOSQUE!
But they’ve learned to keep things quiet out here and spring it on us unannounced!
I’ve been ruminating on this for seventy-two hours straight, since I can’t sleep. I do have to admit that there are two other possibilities. And both are bad. Given the race of the guy in knee protectors he could be constructing a birth certificate mill for non-white politicians on behalf of liberals (and there are too many out here to count, believe me). Or, equally plausible, he could be building a FEMA camp to imprison Americans on behalf of their government (locating a camp inside the city lowers prisoner transportation costs, and what about those thick, windowless walls?). Whatever it is, it’s obviously a threat.
But I’m not backing down or cowering in fear inside my house like my neighbors, who pretend that nothing is amiss. No siree Bob. I’m taking action. And not just installing a home security system and trading in the cat for an attack dog. I’ve already snuck over to the site with a Garmin and recorded the GPS coordinates. I’ve located the lot on Google Maps and tracked down the Google Street View image. And I’ve sent this info to Homeland Security.
I’m still waiting for the Predator drones to arrive and decimate the site before it can sprout its poisonous roots. I know from what I’ve read that those missiles aren’t nearly as accurate as they claim. One might even incinerate my house with me in it. But I’m prepared to handle that loss.
It’s a very small price to pay for freedom.
Thomas Sullivan © 2010