It's wicked to mock the afflicted

The memory of a lesson in politics.

'How did politics come up?' I thought to myself trying to stay focused on what she was saying. The full meaning of her words hit my beer addled mind.

"How could you vote for him? He's a fucking monster. If he had his way, you'd would be locked in your home squirting out more little conservatives to go and kill brown people when their oil companies need to maintain 15% profit growth. The only time you would be allowed away from your kitchen would be to go pray at the state funded mega-church with stained glass filled with corperate logos." That was only the beginning of my unstoppable rant that pretty much could have been summed up as "You are a girl, therefore you should have voted for the democrat." Through this diatribe, I failed to notice her expression had changed from engaged conversationalist to one of a person smelling rotten vegetation. Eventually, my lungs and brain exhausted themselves. It was only then that I knew I was going to lose this argument one way or another. There was an exaggerated pause and what came next still makes cringe.

"Who the fuck are you to tell me who to vote for! A woman's right to vote is the right to vote for whoever the fuck you want to. Not who some middle class momma's boy thinks you should because he read an article by Chomsky that week." Then she punched me. A serious right jab to face that had enough muscle to make me see stars and blackness. The next instant, while I held my aching jaw, I saw a very justified and angry girl leaving the bar.