Went for a little bike ride last Sunday. Just 32 miles from Wilderness Park in Downey down the bike path to Seal Beach. It's a quaint little town that still has that old-timey beachiness about it. It's a perfect place for Ms. Muse and I to sit outside Javatini, enjoy a cup of coffee and split a muffin or scone, depending on availability.
On this occasion we met Rita, a 70 year old teacher who does volunteer work with the Guide Dogs of America.
She lives near by the coffee shop and was willing to share her beautiful dog with us, a retired Golden/Lab named Ally. Not sure how it came up -- I probably blurted something about Lake Ontario -- and she seized the opportunity to tell us about a store up the street called Beachin'.
The store actually has less to to do about beaching, surfers and the cool, laid back style that the name connotes and much more about Bitchin' about people who have no love for Trump, MAGA or dare I say, even America.
They peddle hatred.
Not behind the cloak of a white sheet like their predecessors. But out in the open. Proudly. As if ignorance, myopia and fascism were something to boast about. It is if you want to let the world know you're a complete maroon.
Naturally, we had to see for ourselves. That's where we ran into Frank Ryan, owner/proprietor/Grand Wizard of this shit shop. Here's small sampling of his "wares"...
I'd show you more virulent crap Frank was pimping, but I don't want to get in more trouble with the Social Media Thought Police who have already blocked me and jailed me many times over for calling this an ugly reincarnation of Munich, circa 1933.
Walking around the store, I could hardly contain my disgust at the Troglodyte Trash. There was the obligatory misogyny, the juvenile homophobia and ironically enough, calls for retribution against pedophiles and pedophilia, oblivious to the fact that their merkin-sporting leader who has bragged about his sexual predation, is mentioned in the Epstein Files more times than Epstein.
I finally caught Frank's eye, probably while he was gift wrapping some swastika armbands, and said, "Nice store you got here. Doing a great job of furthering the cause of the Fourth Reich."
His retort, if you can call it that, was to make some lame crack about my lycra bike shorts.
I shouldn't have been surprised. The default of all Red Hats is always some version of chest-beating male toxicity, again oblivious to the fact their octogenarian demented leader painted over with 10 lbs. worth of make up prances around doing his jack off dance to the Village People.
Before I exited the story, I suggested Frank make a visit to a library. Any library.
His perfect self-own, "I don't need a library, Pal, I have everything I need to read right here."
You win Frank, I can't and won't argue wth that, little man.
Partially unredacted: Transgender Women Are Just Ret***ed F*gs.
Speechless.
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