Even if you're afraid in public, you can still do the right thing in the voting booth.

Driftglass sends a message to that "one out of ten", that fraction of the BushCo-enablers who "are softly sickened by what [they] have done".

We both know you don’t dare admit that the collection of liars and loser and war criminals and thugs who run this country is your Party. Not the exception.

We both know that drowned cities, blasted countries, looted treasuries and War Forever are not the accidental side effects of your ideology.

They ARE your ideology.

They are what 12 years of Conservativism Ascendant looks like.

You did this. Not Fat Ted Kennedy or Crazy Nancy Pelosi or some little Liberal blog full of big words.

You did it and you damned well know it, and by my estimation about one in ten of you are softly sickened by what you have done.

But being a Conservative, you’re weak: standing deep within the mob and screaming slogans for twenty years isn’t exactly an Iron Man training regimen for the courage muscle.

And courage is a muscle. One you have let atrophy almost beyond recognition by letting it loaf on the sofa, lazily suckling the Received Wisdom of Rush and mocking the poor and the weak and the different. Because we both know damned well that if your good good friends ever heard the slightest note of doubt or introspection in your voice, you’d be out.

You would suddenly become the fag. The freak. The Liberal. You would be exiled from you local Kool Kids Klub so fucking quick your head would spin fast enough to split atoms.

So fine, go ahead and call people me feminazi to your friends, but know the days of people like me tolerantly turning the other cheek are over (Letting the pig people get away with taking pride in being ignorant hateful assholes is sooo 20th century)

If it helps you puff up in front of the losers your run with, call me a fag.

Or a n*gger lover.

Or a tree hugger.

In public, make all the noisy protestations of Wingnut Faith you feel you have to make to keep your bigot street cred up inside your Rovian daisy chain.

In public.

But in private, Jesus, have a little pride. Salvage some small portion of your God Given dignity before it suffocates completely under two decades of knee-jerk dumbass flab.

Even though you can no longer bench press more than a kitten’s-worth of honor with it, at least take your courage muscle out for a short walk.

Just a brisk stroll down to the polling place on November 7th.

Because while you may feel you have to go along with the Archie Bunkers of the world in public, remember that in private you are still free to act like a man and take a a man’s responsibility for the mess your public self has made.

And privacy is why they put curtains on voting booths.