Ejected from a red-brick working-class row home at age 19, I have had to work all my life to avoid abject pauperdom, so I bear a lifelong animus for cocooned yuppie progtards who lecture me about the “class war” they quixotically wage inside their soft skulls. And the next pampered poofter who wants to shove “white privilege” down my throat may have some white knuckles shoved down theirs. (…)
Although I have my own medical problems, I don’t have health insurance. But neither have I ever felt it was owed to me. I also suspect that if I wasn’t being squeezed by Big Brother to pay for the leeches that feel such things are owed to them, I’d be able to afford it. I’d prefer if they’d never taken my money from me in the first place, but I never had a say in the matter.