The Gonzo Wolf

What.

A.

Day.

I attended a massive No Kings protest in downtown Dallas. At one point, I was within ten feet of the head Proud Boy. I wanted to clobber him for my headstone resume, but his buddies had rifles.

In hindsight, there were only a couple dozen of them, and thousands of us. Since I chose to leave my regular-carry gun at home like a good little protester, I let ’em pass; this time. One of them got arrested, I think. Of course they did.

I wore a Guy Fawkes mask, a black, hooded cloak, and a T shirt which read “quiet, piggy!”

I never spoke a word to anyone. I just marched and filmed in 360 degrees for hours on an overcast, 68 Fahrenheit Dallas Saturday.

Beautiful.

I capped it off with a $50 parking ticket that may or may not be real, plus hours of nothing but time-lapsed footage of me and the gang marching through the streets. I had big plans for all those videos, but every second was useless.

That was the third time this week I’ve dumped a project for not knowing the ins and outs of my new equipment, but that’s how I learn; by failing miserably.

I wasn’t mad, though. Instead of creating the most bad ass, 360, anti-Trump movie, I zoned out, ate amazing food, and played Tomb Raider on an otherwise non-eventful Seattle-esque springtime Saturday.

Man, I was one stupid decision away from martyring a white supremacist cuck in the streets of Dallas. I’m sure thousands more were as well. What happens when the movement collectively tires of turning the other cheek?

I wasn’t the only one in the crowd inconspiculously moving closer to the sideline ruffians. I think American society is getting pretty close to that first move. I’m not as happy about it as I thought I’d be. I guess not every cold fart in the wind can rival the battle for Helm’s Deep.