This is rather embarrassing, but I’ve never actually been in a militia. I played Army Guys during the formative age demographic of 4-41. This was long before the days of paintball guns and body armor for yuppies. All we had were spring-loaded rubber-tipped guns that could hurl a projectile wheezing through the air for maybe 5 or 6 feet. We threw wet bean bags (which could leave a welt) or we’d make POWs dance by throwing soaking wet mud bombs onto an enemy’s new shoes.
That’d teach ’em…
These are the high holy days of insanity and zombies. The loons are goofy-stepping around the outskirts of our pristine SClarita Valley, seeking to cancel our way of life, which, I can’t blame them. It’s a pretty dull and vanilla state of humdrummia. I wonder, more now, how Orwellian things will get and will the Left run out of things to burn — buildings, books, ideas, deodorant, clean underwear.
I need to prepare.
Even before attracting members, I’ve got to do a little marketing. You know. Like come up with a name for my militia?
I like The Winged Hussars of SClarita. First, it’s Polish. Like me. The Winged Hussars were the famous 16th-century noble cavalry unit that opened a 256-jar of Whup Asterisk on the Ottomans.
Not the cushy upholstered footstools.
Those pesky Turks.
The Winged Hussars had perhaps the coolest armor in the history of warfare and both Thor and Iron Man would sigh in abject wonder at the flamboyant battle dress. Some of the gaudier ensembles had giant metal and feathery wings attached at the shoulders. I could see battalions of us patrolling the paseos while “Ride of the Valkyries” played on an epic boombox. Or better, via an entire live orchestra. Might as well finally get some use out of COC’s one-note music department.
In order to attract allies from the right-wing body-building SCV population, I’d offer a perk that they could go into battle naked. You know. Like the circa 800 A.D. Viking Berserkers? Most of my friends who went to Hart in the 1960s have hinted that they like the idea of the full-body Wagnerian opera uniforms rather than the angry nudist look in that some of late are experiencing what scientists like to call, “embarrassing male mid-life crisis stretch marks.”
For our conservative live nude male division, we’re going to have drills and no, I shalt not write, “close order drills” complete with sheepish smile. There will be precision marching. And show tunes. And, we’ll need our own anthem. If I may. Here’s a rewritten National Lampoon limerick from years ago, in the key of R-ruptured Flat. Hit it, girls:
We are the Queen of England!
We love to sing and dance!
And if you don’t believe us!
We’ll punch you in the pants!!
This could take off.
Like Spartacus, as we maraud from townhouse to townhouse, scouring the SCV condoside, we’ll recruit conservatives everywhere. We’ll gain the hearts and minds by relieving Nature’s Call in the private koi pools of the corpulent, liberal HOA presidents. You know the ones? They won’t allow you to wear a red and white shirt with jeans while decorating the planters with lawn gnomes that resemble Lenin?
We’ll need a headquarters. I’m thinking the Valencia Sheriff’s HQ. Certainly we will not attack outright. Many of local law enforcement secretly sides with our viewpoint and I’m not just talking the squadron of naked tattooed berserkers, either. We’ll take over the station by sneaking in the front door and inching our way to the front desk. We’ll hit the little hotel bell on the counter, leave a note and scamper out without any conflict.
There’s Never Anyone At The Sheriff’s Front Desk — ever.
The note will say:
Do You Have Gavin
Newsome in a Can?
Well. Let Him Out.
He’s got Gout.
After a few weeks of this psychological warfare, the local sheriff’s deputies will become discouraged and abandon their fort. We Winged Hussars will rule Santa Clarita for a thousand years.
We’ll bring much-needed commerce to the SCV after the ravages of our local COVID plague with fundraising bake get-togethers, car washes and merchandise sales. SCV Militia T-Shirts. Militia mouse pads. Militia coffee mugs. Gang tattoos (like the kind OLPH sells at their annual September Catholic Days). Monster truck rallies. Pay-per-view executions of the annoying and The Truly Annoying.
I’ve already started my list.
Like many great generals before me, I’m thinking of the future. After we do away with the Democratic Party, the psychos, druggies, tenured professors of Sissy Studies at COC and people who call you on your private cell line asking if you’d like to get an extended auto warranty, we’ll start a race war.
We’ll begin small. Like maybe with an armed conflict between the Italians and the Danes.
That way, if I get wounded, no matter which side captures me, I’ll get health care access to some staggeringly great-looking and sympathetic nurse babes who comfort: “There-there oooo you’re so brave vut can I do to make it not hurt?” only in Danish or Italian.
Click boot heels together.
Salute with a riding crop.
Smoke ’em if you got ’em…
John Boston is a local writer. And, Field Marshal of The Santa Clarita Valley Militia. Before joining, please fax Dr. Greg Jenkins, SCV Militia, at 877-646-7426 to schedule a non-taxing physical without any embarrassing background questions on state of mind or incarceration history.