What Ron Paul supporters SHOULDN’T apologize for
Ron Paul creates enthusiasm. And not the fake, choreographed, everybody-wave-his-name-on-a-stick-and-wait-for-a-pause-to-go-wild “enthusiasm” endemic to modern campaigns.
No. REAL enthusiasm. The kind of enthusiasm that compels you to ride from South Dakota to Ames on a motorcycle in order to have the privilege of passing out campaign literature for eight hours in the hot sun in exchange for no money. The kind that causes you to attend campaign events not out of a sense of duty, or responsibility or to be a team player, but for the same reasons you would go to a movie or a sporting event. It’s not where you HAVE to be, it’s where you WANT to be.
Moreover, you find yourself in the company of some pretty gnarly types at a Ron Paul event. It’s a DMV-esque crowd; some of us haven’t bathed, some of us think the government blew up the World Trade Center with lasers from space, and some of us think that the world is run by a conspiracy involving lizards from space and the reanimated corpse of the Queen Mum. And it doesn’t matter. You wind up loving those guys, because when they look at a humble country doctor from East Texas, they see what you see. They hope what you hope. They yell what you yell.
And man alive, do you ever end up yelling.
