Sooner or later, they're gonna fight: A Little Uppity Urban Paranoia

Whatever happens after November 4th (That's Election Day. Don't be fooled, people.), they'd better keep those crazy Red Dawn MFers away from me. Do whatever it takes--give them better video games, throw them slabs of red meat, round them up and send them to yoga camp--I don't care. I just want to be able to visit my friends in the country and enjoy nature's splendor without worrying about a gang of Jimmy Choo wearing Rambinas running my CarShare rental off the road with a bunch of tricked out 4 wheelers. I just want to keep buying locally grown produce from the farmers market free from fear of biting into a whoopie pie and coming away with a mouth full of pongee stick.

"What are ya gonna, do, sue me?" That's right. Just keep saying that to yourselves, Wolverines.
My Ivy League degree, spotty attendance of Episcopalian Church services, and tendency to pronounce words correctly might lull some into a false sense of martial superiority, but be warned. My heart pumps lawyer's blood, but it also pumps farmer's blood and laborer's blood and hunter's blood. My people are no strangers to the land. And we like dogs, real dogs, big drooling retrievers and mean rabbit hounds. I can handle myself outside of Philly. I know how to swim. I know how to dress in layers. I know how to make my own sweaters. If push comes to shove, I would rather die than give some loony wing nut the satisfaction of crushing my rights, and I'll take some loonies with me. I'm not afraid of weapons. They'll have to pry my bamboo knitting needles from my cold, dead hands.

If any freebird thinks I'm the coddled product of the welfare state and affirmative action, they're welcome to to try me. While watching DVD's of Chapelle's Show, I've been working on my core strength. I plan to distract menfolk with my big purdy legs before crushing them under my comfortable shoes. So bring it on, Jed, if you dare.