Get On the Bus

  Don't misunderstand: I love every last one of you crazy leftists. I love the arguments. They always sound like that scene from Life of Bryan to me:

  You must know your destination before you start your journey, right? Well . . . sorta.

  All the arguments are really important. They are vital. They are the crucible of revolutionary theory. When we all get on the bus, we are sitting on the East Coast, and we know we wanna head west to California, maybe Arizona. But exactly where? That is, of course, the question. Some say Sonoma, some say Frisco, some say LA. There's a San Diego guy, and a small anti-social cadre in the back who say California is a mistake, and that we only should go as far as Tucson. The arguments are furious, passionate, recriminations fly. So the bus driver just sits there, waits 'til we figure it all out, right?

  Wrong. You get on the bus, and you drive west. Work it out on the way. And if anybody calls you a gradualist, tell 'em to fuck off and get on the bus.

  But as far as those pantsuit clowns who only want to go as far as DC or Harrisburg, they get on and stay on until well after the continental divide, or they can just stay off the damn bus.