I turn towards the blonde woman, who' decided (rather unpatriotically) to dress in unauthorized civilian clothes. "Didn't you read my email?" I bellow, reprimanding her for not following my Protest Warrior chapter president orders in front of the patrons of Carrow'. I briefly toy with the idea of seeing if I could make her drop and give me 10 pushups. She makes an unhappy face at me.
The hostess steers us towards a table where we make, rigid uncomfortable right-wing small talk. "The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph," I state, quoting Thomas Paine (certainly not for the last time tonight).
"Is this the Protest Warriors?" asks a man with glasses, who claims to be a schoolteacher, as the rest of my unit slowly files in.
"It is!" I bark. Then with abrupt anger, "And you're late!" I give him something to think about: "What if you were late for an Operation? That just won't do!" Like an authoritative dick, I lean far back in my chair, adding, "Pull up some table!"
A gung-ho guy with moustache and glasses joins us next. So gung-ho, in fact, that he wears a Protest Warrior T-shirt. I like his moxie!
"Where did you get your awesome T-shirt?" I ask, planting
him a patriotic high-five.
"I ordered it right off of the website!" he proudly proclaims, gesturing to the emblem of an angry shirtless, muscular guy wielding a large sword and sign, that reads Protest Warrior Now! (Politics aside, I have to say the Protest Warrior emblem, is… well, a little gay.)
"You just might make a good Chapter Vice-President," I state, slapping him on the back, eyeballing the guy in the Ronald Reagan T-shirt in a way that says, I'm keeping you on your toes, pal.
Suddenly, the meeting takes a serious right turn, as we all get a chance
to meet a professional, full-time Protest Warrior. Much more intense than
my other chapter members, this very large, very humorless and very intimidating
arrives with his girlfriend and proceeds to give everyone at the table
a no-nonsense handshake and stress his military background. (He doesn't
bother to introduce his girlfriend, and she doesn't speak once during
our entire Carrow' Protest Warrior meeting.)
"Is someone going to take notes?" our newest arrival scolds us, looking to buck my authority at the first chance, it would seem. He can barely keep himself from rolling his eyes at the lack of military professionalism of my meeting.
With that, our Carrow' food arrives. The blonde woman in our Protest Warrior group bows her head and prays out loud over her quality budget-priced food. It' awkward. The rest of us look uncomfortably at each other, unsure if we should also bless our budget-priced meals.
Once the prayers wrap up, I get down to business. "One of the big things is the liberal loony fest down in 'Frisco," I tell them, referring to the third anniversary protest of the Iraq War while annoyingly calling San Francisco 'Frisco. "This… is our Super Bowl," I declare, taking care to make strong, creepy eye contact with everyone at the table. Next I open up the floor for some serious Protest Warrior brainstorming, inviting everybody present to put our collective brainpower together to strategize how best to break up the liberal Iraq protest.
"Bullhorns!" I tell them. "We need lots of bullhorns!"
"No bullhorns," nixes my imposing military nemesis.