Rebel's Rules

In no particular order of importance or inspirational catastrophic event; and with no claim of originality nor exclusivity:

1.  Tractors don't swim. (Don't ask.)

2.  Loving a woman is like paddling a canoe in a stiff breeze -- both require constant attention, a little bit at a time.  

3.  First reports are nearly always false, but perfect intelligence is unattainable.

4.  That which does not kill you, may make you a cripple.

5.  E-mail kills.  The spoken word is thin as air, the written word is always there. 

6.  The speed and accuracy of an electron is inversely related to the urgency of the task involving the electron.

7.  Power tools don't discriminate.

8.  Low-information voting is not an exclusive province of either end of the political spectrum.

9.  "Please" and "Thank you" are power words.

10.  Trees and trucks are mortal enemies.

11.  Give a man a 4WD truck, a length of chain, and a chainsaw and he will play, not-so quietly, by himself for hours.

12.  Any store that doesn't sell duck calls and stink bait is a waste of bricks and mortar.

13.  Eating during hours of daylight is a sign of weakness.

14.  A mug of strong, hot coffee fuels inspiration.  

15.  Never trust a man who wears a hat indoors.

16.  Never trust a man who wears his hat backwards -- fashion statements are for women.

17.  Never trust a man who doesn't carry a pocket knife.

18.  The bigger the knife the smaller the man.

19.  Never underestimate the destructive potential of a squad of Marines, a three-year old grandson, or a six-month old labrador retriever.

20.  Empires that build walls aren't empires for much longer.

21.  The larger the known universe becomes, the greater God is.

22.  Gardens cause weeds and trailer parks cause tornadoes.

23.  Perception becomes reality.

24.  The best ideas in any organization usually come from the ranks.

25.  An organization is as great as the leader says.

26.  Hope is not an acceptable course of action.

27.  Training is everything and everything is training.

28.  Meetings that last longer than 15 minutes usually devolve into pole vaulting over mouse turds.

29.  Executive actions are indicative of legislative paralysis.

30.  No such thing as an "over-built" bridge.

31.  Change is a dragon; fight it and be eaten; ride it and live.

32.  The line beyond which a word or idea is considered "politically incorrect" incessantly encroaches on common sense and freedom of expression, and is destructive to society-binding customs, courtesies and traditions.

33.  Political correctness is antithetical to diversity.

34.  Pity the man who has everything to live for and nothing worth dying for.

35.  February is twenty-eight days of being pecked to death by a duck.

36.  Never pass up the opportunity to allow someone else the opportunity.

37.  Republics either continue to expand, or contract into irrelevance.

38.  Chewing gum is the devil.

39.  The highest responsibility of the government of a free people is to stay out of the way of the people it serves. 

40.  Limited war limits the possibility of a satisfactory outcome.

41.  Covering wood grain with a coat of paint is a crime against nature.

42.  Nothing calms the soul like a bird at your feeder.

43.  Men and women are different for a reason and equal by reason.

44.  No such thing as a fair fight.

45.  Nothing good happens after midnight, unless you're at home.

46.  Sleep is the reward of the righteous.

47.  One man's music is another man's noise; share accordingly.

48.  There's no such thing as a free lunch, a deep discount, or a pet rattlesnake.

49.  Wherever you go, that's where you are.

50.  The smartest man in any room is the man looking for the smartest man in the room. 

51.  The Pepsi Rule: Drinking more alcoholic drinks in one sitting than you would drink non-alcoholic drinks is alcohol abuse.

52.  A long walk alone is therapy for a frantic mind.

53.  Righteous indignation is a dish best served rarely.

54.  A license to drive should not be issued to anyone without a full-time job.

55.  Never pass up the opportunity to catch the buck.

56.  The "perfect" leader would have perfect subordinates.

57.  Boredom is God's call to prayer.

58.  Understand the present by knowing history; understand history by knowing geography.

59.  Climate and culture are not static.

60.  A man who makes long lists of sophomoric sentences has far too much time on his hands.       

Pandemic Precedence

The Colonel and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda are hunkered down in social isolation on the Colonel's vast land holdings here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere.

The current pandemic has nothing to do with that.

They've been "isolated" for 13 years.

Egeebeegee, the unincorporated capital of the Tallahatchie Republic (a virtual government founded tongue-in-cheek and hand-on-wallet), was established here in North Central Mississippi in March of 2007.  The Colonel and his bride were looking for a place to put down roots after wandering rootless for the first half century of their lives.  They found it quite by accident.  A turn down a lonely narrow road led them to a piece of land that immediately felt like home.  Nowhere else on the globe had felt like that in the previous half century. 

The road on which Egeebeegee perches is not a thoroughfare to or from anywhere.  From his rocking chair on the front porch of the Big House, the Colonel might count no more than a half-dozen vehicles passing by on a hours long afternoon rock.  Rush hour is two pickups, a tractor, and a four-wheeler in a two hour stretch.

With the foregoing as preamble, the Colonel is acutely aware that he is one of the most fortunate men on the planet.  "Quarantine" ain't a hardship for him.

The rest of humanity has the Colonel's sympathy. This viral pandemic is going to be hard on the rest of you.

But..., the Colonel promises you, our nation will weather this storm.

Let's put it in perspective, shall we?

The seminal event of the lives of those alive at the beginning of the last century was the First World War.  Initially confined primarily to European treaty entanglements, that war quickly spun out of control and then collapsed into a trench-work black hole that drew the rest of the world into its gravity well.  By the time the United States joined the fight in earnest, the cream of a European generation had been lost in three years of horror.  

The United States sent a three-million man expeditionary force to France; more than triple the deployment of forces in the Desert Storm drive-by, and far, far larger still than any deployment of force since 9/11.     

And then, when the horror and sacrifice seemed it could plumb no further depths, a particularly virulent strain of influenza broke out.

Historians call it the "Spanish Flu," but it didn't originate in Spain.  It just so happened that the only nation that didn't censure news of the epidemic, that manifested itself with the most prevalence on the battlefield, was Spain; and because the Spanish press was the primary reportage of the outbreak, the virus became the "Spanish Flu."

Many historians and epidemiologists now believe the virus took hold originally in crowded Army camps in the United States and then was transported by American soldiers to the trenches in France.  

Much is being made about the fact that there is "much we don't know yet" about the current virus -- COVID-19 (COrona VIrus strain D -- first identified in 2019).  Even though we are indeed playing catch-up in our attempts to contain, treat, and immunize against COVID-19, we are light years ahead of where the world was in 1918 dealing with the Spanish Flu pandemic.

First of all, medical science in 1918 did not know what caused influenza.  It was still believed to be a bacterial -- vice viral -- infection.

In fact, in 1918, scientists had only just identified a bacterial infection in the lungs of influenza victims that they attributed as the cause of the disease.  It wasn't until just before World War Two, that the virus that causes the flu was identified.  For centuries prior to the Twentieth Century, the accepted science was that influenza was caused by the influence of things other than germs -- the word "influenza" is Italian for "influence," because Renaissance scientists attributed outbreaks of the disease to the influence of astronomical events such as alignment of planets.    

The Colonel kids thee not.

The particularly virulent strain of influenza that swept the world -- by definition, a pandemic -- in 1918/1919 killed tens of millions across the globe.  The official death toll in the United States was 650 thousand.  When you consider the decentralized nature, and lack of uniformity in reporting and record-keeping 100 years ago, the actual mortality numbers are likely much higher. 

The population of the United States in 1918 was just north of 100 million souls.  It is now north of 330 million.  The Colonel will allow you to do the math...  

The Colonel's intent is not to scare or incite panic.  Panic, although understandable, is unreasonable.  

There is ample reason for reason.

We are in so much better of a position to fight and defeat COVID-19 (early stumbles and bumbles in testing notwithstanding) than we have ever been in any other viral outbreak.  The speed at which we have been able to isolate and discern the make-up of this virus (thanks to super-computers) is, to use a word far too much in use today, unprecedented.  

To our Federal government's credit, it has engaged the incredible resources and capabilities of the commercial sector, and gotten out of their way.      

To be sure, this is a generation-defining crisis; much more so than the misnamed and fecklessly fought (strategically) "Global War on Terror."  The past two decades have been a walk in the park for the vast majority of Americans -- even given the economic hardships suffered during so-called "Great Recession."  Only a fraction of a percent of the American population has had to make any serious sacrifice over the last twenty years.

Get ready to sacrifice, America.

Sacrifice builds character. We will come out of this stronger.

If nothing else, this will help us to identify those on whom we can count (and not count) in a future real, existential, crisis.    
        

Viral Vicissitudes

The Colonel, ever attentive to his vast and slightly less than onerous duties as chief executive for life of the Tallahatchie Republic -- a semi-autonomous virtual republic established tongue-in-cheek and hand-on-wallet -- headquartered aboard (but not necessarily limited to) the Colonel's vast land holdings here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere, has been keeping a close eye on the latest viral pandemic.

Loathe to add any restrictions to the personal liberties of citizens, temporary residents, and invited visitors beyond those which currently fit -- handwritten with a partially eaten crayon -- on a post it note, the Colonel would be remiss in his slightly less than onerous duties if he were to not make adjustments appropriate to the health threat posed by the Wuhan Virus.

Last evening, at an emergency session of the Congress of the Tallahatchie Republic, the Colonel addressed the assembled citizenry and announced temporary preventive measures to be instituted immediately:

"My fellow citizens, the Wuhan Virus threat to the health and well-being of all who call the physical headquarters of the virtual Tallahatchie Republic home cannot be ignored.  There is no need for panic -- the Colonel is in charge here and remains vigilant to any and all threats to your security.  We will, however, need to make a few changes to our standing operating procedures."

"First of all, we must begin to practice 'social distancing..."

The Colonel's best friend and second most important TR citizen -- the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda -- slammed her needle-point down on the couch beside her (the action that often signals her desire to participate in the debates of state), "Social distancing?!?  Knucklehead, what are you rambling on about now?  And why are you swinging that stick around."

"The Colonel never rambles!," the Colonel retorted.  "He may pontificate.  He may lecture.  He may even occasionally offer extended correctional criticism.  But, the Colonel never..."

"Just stawwwp!," the Colonel's bride obviously needed no further explanation. 

"Stop what, dear?"

"Stop referring to yourself in the third person and stop swinging that stick around.  If you put a scratch on my piano, you're gonna be in deep stink!"

"It's not a 'stick'."

"What?"

"It's not a 'stick'.  It's the Colonel's treasured walking cane procured at great personal risk from the deep interior of the snake-infested  cane brake back at the far reaches of the Colonel's vast land holdings here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere."

"It's a stick.  And if you don't stop swinging it around, I'm gonna snatch it from you and break it over my knee."

The Colonel recoiled in horror, clutching his treasured walking cane to his formerly robust chest.  "You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, I dare, Knucklehead, I dare. Put the stick down, now!"

The Colonel stood clutching his treasured walking cane to his formerly robust chest and considered his options.  

"What is wrong with you, now, Knucklehead? If you keep biting your tongue and crossing your eyes like that I'm gonna have you admitted."

"I'm considering my options."

"Well, stop it.  You look ridiculous.  Even more ridiculous than usual."

The Colonel slowly relaxed his tensed posture, uncrossed his eyes, and assumed the position of parade rest. "Maey tha Koernal pleath esplane..."

The Colonel remembered he was still biting his tongue.  

"The Colonel is using his treasured walking cane to describe the arc of distance at which citizens, temporary residents, and invited visitors must remain from each other in order to significantly reduce the communication of the Wuhan Virus.  Each citizen, temporary resident, and invited visitor will be issued a replica of the Colonel's treasured walking cane with which they will maintain social distancing." 

Because the Colonel had ceased describing the arc of social distance with his treasured walking cane, and therefore ceased to present a clear danger to her treasured piano, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda returned her attention to her needle point.

The Colonel resumed his address.

"In addition to social distancing, citizens, temporary residents, and invited visitors will vigorously wash their hands and feet at least hourly."

"Feet?"  The comely and kind-hearted looked up from her needle-point and fixed her loving gaze quizzically upon the Colonel.

(Well, most people wouldn't recognize it as a "loving gaze," but the Colonel sees it a lot, and knows that the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda loves him a lot, so...)

"Yes, you heard that right.  Feet will be washed hourly, at the top of each hour.  And, since the Colonel's infantry-ravaged back no longer allows him to reach his own feet...,"  the Colonel paused and looked expectantly at his loving bride.

"Dream on, Knucklehead," the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda didn't even look up from her needle point.  "I wouldn't touch your nasty feet with your stupid stick."

The Colonel detected that the natives were getting a bit restless and began to wrap up his address on Wuhan Virus emergency measures.

"It's not a 'stick.'  It's the Colonel's treasured...  Never mind.  The last change to our standing operating procedures regards restrictions to travel to and from the physical headquarters of our virtual republic.  Effective immediately, and until further notice, all travelers from the Colonel's vast land holdings here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere will prepare by washing hands and feet..."

The Colonel paused to judge the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's reaction.

"Dream on, Knucklehead," the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda said without looking up from her needle point.

The Colonel pressed on, "Travelers will also carry a replica of the Colonel's stick... err..., he means treasured walking cane, with which they will maintain an effective social distance from others."

The Colonel closed his address by assuming the Tallatchie Republic salute stance -- a modified position of attention with tongue planted firmly in cheek and right hand clutching wallet in right rear pocket.

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda registered her overwhelming approval of the Colonel and his outstanding leadership with her customary head shake and well-worn term of endearment,

"Knucklehead."          


        
                                 

Sanctuary Republic

The Colonel convened an emergency joint session of the three constitutional branches of the Tallahatchie Republic last evening.

 * For those of you who have only recently demonstrated the fact that you have absolutely nothing else of redeeming value to do with your time than to follow posts hereon, and have yet to get completely up to speed on the methodless madness that is The Colonel's Corner, the Tallahatchie Republic (founded with tongue in cheek and hand on wallet) is a virtual government (of the Colonel and by the Colonel) headquartered at Egeebeegee, Mississippi  (Unincorporated), encompassing both the Colonel's vast holdings here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere and the Colonel's not-so vast readership scattered around the map. 

The emergency joint session was necessitated by a crisis of perception -- the Colonel thinks the rest of the world has gone nuts.

Surrounded on all sides by folks who have absolutely lost their minds, the Colonel had no choice but to take concrete steps to prevent loss of his own remaining meager mental faculties, which would incapacitate the Tallahatchie Republic's leadership for life and leave the citizenry and legal residents without protection.

"My fellow Tallahatchians.  The Colonel calls this joint session of the..."

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda looked up from her needlepoint and opened up her heart to the Colonel, "Knucklehead, if you don't get out of the way of the TV, I'm gonna bust your joints with a frying pan!"

"Dear, the Colonel has called a joint session of the government of the Tallahatchie Republic to address a critical issue. Please pay attention for just a few minutes."

"You get two minutes and that's it!" The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is nothing if not patient and accommodating.

"Thank you, Dear.  Lessee, where was the Colonel?  Ah, yes.  My fellow Tallahatchians..."

"Tally what?"

"What, dear?"

"Never mind. You've got a minute and a half left.  You better skip the preamble and get to the point."

"Uh, okay...  The Colonel calls this joint session in order to..."

"Why do you do that?

"What, dear?"

"Why do you insist on referring to yourself in the third person?"

"Well, the Colonel rather thinks it adds rhetorical and literary flourish to his speaking and writing..."

"More like fingernails on a chalkboard.  You've got a minute left. Wrap it up, Shakespeare."

"Wha...?  Uh..., um...," the Colonel thumbed quickly through the sheaf of papers in his hands and finally found the page with the words "Sanctuary Proclamation" at the top.  He solemnly intoned, 

"Whereas, a growing plurality of the cities and states, municipalities and commonwealths of the late, great re-United States of America have declared themselves sanctuaries for various persons who have challenged the sovereignty of the aforesaid late, great republic and entered and established residency in contravention to the laws of said late, great republic...; 

"We, the people of the Tallahatchie Republic, with tongues firmly planted inside cheeks and hands firmly grasping wallets, do hereby declare that the Tallahatchie Republic is, and will henceforth forever be, SANCTUARY for those persons who self-identify as Constitutional republicans (Big C, little r)."


The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda sat in open-mouthed wonder at the love of her life standing at the modified position of attention and executing the Tallahatchie Salute (tongue in cheek; hand on wallet).

"Well, that takes the cake, knucklehead.  Just when I thought your idiocy could plumb no greater depths...,"  the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda stopped and sighed -- the kind of deep, soulful, sigh of resignation that the Colonel has heard on occasions too numerous to count.  "Can you do one thing for me..., the next time you call one of your 'emergency joint sessions'?"

"Shurtinly, deah...," the Colonel paused, ceased his Tallahatchie salute, and looked expectantly into the eyes of his best friend.  "Whatever you want."

"Could you please designate the space in front of the TV a 'Colonel Free Zone'?"               

Pre-Traumatic Speech Disorder

The Colonel has spent the better part of the last week feverishly crafting the most important speech of the political year here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere -- the regularly irregular State of the Tallahatchie Republic address.  

As is his custom of nearly a half century, the Colonel likes to pitch his ideas to, and practice his oratorical flourishes with, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda...

"My fellow Tallahatchians, the Colonel comes before you this evening..."

"What?  Are you talking to me, knucklehead?"

"The Colonel is practising his speech, dear. Just listen and tell me what you think."  

"Speech?  What speech?"

"The Colonel's regularly irregular State of the Tallahatchie Republic address, of course.  You know that it is the most important speech of the year here at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere..."

"Take a deep breath, knucklehead.  You're babbling again.  And for pete's sake, quit referring to yourself in the third person!"

"The Colonel doesn't babble!  He might pontificate.  He can ramble.  But, he never, ever babbles!"

"What's that, knucklehead?  All I heard was 'babble, babble, babble.'  And, what's that funny hand motion you're making?"

"It's not a funny hand motion  -- it's a knife hand.  Draws attention and adds visual punctuation to the Colonel's babb..., er..., speech.  Look, dear, just listen while you sit there doing your needle point."

"But, you're standing in front of Gibbs!"

"Who?"

"Gibbs!  Leroy Jethro Gibbs.  NCIS is on and you're standing in front of the TV.  Now there's a real Marine."  

"Uh, dear, you do know that Gibbs is a fictional character?  The whole show is the height of implausibility.  Why, the NCIS folks the Colonel dealt with when he was on active duty couldn't get the bullet out of their shirt pocket, let alone bring down international terrorists!"

"There you go again, knucklehead.  Babbling about your glory days.  Look at you, now.  You buy a few acres and now you think you're king of your own country."

"Not king.  More like a relatively benevolent military dictator."

"Yeah, right!  More like an irrelevant boorish popinjay."  

"Who you calling irrelevant?  Please, just listen to the speech and see if it strikes the right tone.  If the Colonel doesn't get it right, the republic might devolve into civil war."  

"Civil war?  Knucklehead, there's not but two of us living out here at the end of the road to nowhere.  As long as you stay out of the way of the TV, the state of our union will be strong.  Go give your speech to the chickens."

Just as well.  The Colonel can't decide whether the central pillar of his address should be his plans for expansion of the Republic via privately financed invasion route infrastructure enhancements, or raising the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's wages.

Maybe the chickens will give the Colonel some feedback on his ideas for a moon colony...    

Rebellion is Brewing

The Colonel delivered his annual address to the citizens and legal residents of the Tallahatchie Republic (a virtual nation state established with tongue in cheek and hand on wallet) yesterday.  It was neither televised nor recorded in any fashion, save indelible imprint on the very psyche of each and everyone in attendance.

The address was delivered in the cavernous family room of the Big House, sited on a ridge overlooking Eegeebeegee -- the Colonel's vast holdings at the shallow northern end of deep southern nowhere.

Excerpts, and description of the speech's reception, follow:

"Citizens, residents, and friends of our great enterprise: the Colonel bids you well and wishes to bring you up to date on the progress of projects and future plans to keep Eegeebeegee great.  Please hold your applause until the end."

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda sighed and interjected, "Are you going to do this, now?  Wheel of Fortune is on."  

The Colonel leveled his steely-eyed gaze on his bride, "What part of 'hold your applause until the end' did you not understand?"

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda returned the Colonel's steely-eyed gaze with her patented look that can cook a steak well-done, "Wasn't applauding, knucklehead.  Take your incoherent babbling to another room, willya."

"Who you callin' incoherent?" the Colonel retorted indignantly.  "Be careful that the Colonel doesn't declare you 'an enemy of the people' and have you deported."

"Deported?!"  The wattage of the Colonel's Lady's gaze increased exponentially, approaching temperatures suitable for welding steel. "Who do you think you are?  And, stop referring to yourself in the third person -- it's seriously getting on my nerves."

The Colonel comported himself, shuffled the ream of papers in his hands, and resumed his address, albeit in a lower tone and from a position out of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda's line of sight to Vanna flipping letters.

"The long dreary days of the month whose name will not be spoken come to an end this evening.  Tomorrow will dawn with the promise of brighter, warmer days.  And, the Colonel assures you the tempo of infrastructure projects will increase with the lengthening daylight and rising warmth.  There is no project too tough for us to tackle."

"Huh!," the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda huffed.  "What is this 'us' business?  You mean 'no project is too tough' for ME to tackle!"  

Sensing an opportunity to deviate from his prepared text in response to the crowd's enthusiastic reception, the Colonel ad libbed, "The Colonel pledges a redoubling of his supervisory effort to ensure that our republic's workforce stays on task."

"Workforce?!  So, now I'm just 'the workforce!'  Listen hear, knucklehead," the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda intoned, using her favorite term of endearment for her man, your 'workforce' is hereby on strike!"

The Colonel deviated further from his prepared remarks, "Strikes, slow-downs, stoppages, and other forms of workforce rebellion will be dealt with swiftly and severely..."

"Rebellion?!  I'll show you 'rebellion!'  I'll stomp a mudhole in your Manassas!"

Sensing an undercurrent of discontent in the crowd, the Colonel summarily adjourned the joint session of the Congress of the Tallahatchie Republic and beat an organized, if hasty, withdrawal to the friendlier confines of the Oblong Office, formerly known as the Colonel's Knotty Room, to revise and extend the contents of his remarks for the record.

The Colonel hopes the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda cools off soon.  It'll be time to plant and tend the garden before too long, and the Colonel is loathe to bring in migrant labor.               
  

Misunderestimation

Allow the Colonel to make this crystal clear right up front:

When he voted in the Republican Primary, Donald Trump was the Colonel's 17th choice.

That's right -- the Colonel would have voted for Gilmore over Trump. To be brutally honest, the Colonel has never liked Trump.  Never have been a big fan of ostentatious narcissistic bullies.

And, the Colonel will freely admit that he way underestimated Donald Trump's ability to mount a winning presidential campaign -- even against the most flawed Democrat Party candidate in history.  The Colonel, as many of you who frequently waste precious rod and cone time perusing posts hereon will remember, early on endorsed a Rubio/Kasich ticket that he believed had the best chance of both defeating Hillary Clinton (in the Electoral College count) and effectively governing over the next four years.  And, after watching Trump's performance in the "debates" (a term defined, in the current American lexicon, with less firmament than a newborn's diaper deposit), and his inability to resist spending political capital on defending himself against attacks designed to do just that, the Colonel was convinced the polls were all wrong.  The Colonel didn't believe that the race was going to be any closer than about 15 points.  

The Colonel was wr...

The Colonel was wwrr...

The Colonel was wroooo...

The Colonel misunderestimated.  (It's a word -- just ask W)

Look, the Colonel gets it.  The Donald tapped into a seething reservoir of discontent.  He said what 60+ million American citizens wanted to hear. But, that doesn't make the Colonel trust him any more than he trusts a threatened copperhead not to strike.

And, while the Colonel is decidedly not a practitioner of the unmanly art of political correctness, he is uncomfortable with Trump's rhetoric.  Just as uncomfortable as he is with the divisive rhetoric, and tenuous grasp on the truth, of the current temp help in the Oval Office.

For the Colonel's many friends who are currently toasting with tankards of Trumpade: he hopes you are right.  He hopes President Trump will restore Constitutional governance to our great Republic.

But, the Colonel has learned from painful experience that "hope" is not an effective strategy, nor even a satisfactory operational or tactical course of action.  The Colonel fervently believes that the future greatness of our Republic lies not in the hands of an extra-Constitutional strongman, but in a chief executive whose every action is bound by a strict interpretation of the Constitution to which he or she solemnly swears his allegiance and defense.  The Colonel is not ready to place complete trust in Trump's willingness to abide strictly by the Constitution while he endeavors to deliver on his promise to "make America great again;" whatever that means.  The Colonel fears that Trump's narcissism and the counsel of sycophants will win out over strict Constitutional governance just as surely as it has in Obama's case.

But, we could have been in far more worse hands come January.  A Hillary Clinton presidency, with certain attendant corruption the likes of which have not been seen since the Grant administration, was a prospect too horrible to entertain, even for a plurality of the voters in several states that went for Obama two elections in a row.   

For that reason, he will admit, the Colonel was a sniff short of giddy as the elections results trickled in last Tuesday.  He may not have been on the Trump Train, but the Colonel was for dang sure not looking forward to the certain full-scale assault on the Constitution that would have continued under a Clinton administration.  

Bottom line:  The Colonel's actual declaration of the Tallahatchie Republic is on hold.  But, Trump had better watch his... actions.