AVFTB vs The Futility of Debating a Liberal

In the grand theatre of human discourse, there exists a peculiar subgenre: the art of arguing with a liberal. It's a performance so intricate and tiresome that it often feels like trying to convince a cat to walk on a leash—impossible, yet oddly fascinating. The stage is set with the usual props: a steaming cup of organic, fair-trade coffee, a dog-eared copy of The New York Times, and an air of moral superiority so thick you could cut it with a knife made of recycled wind turbines. The liberal sits comfortably in their eco-friendly armchair, surrounded by a halo of sanctimony, ready to embark on a journey through the labyrinth of their own uninformed opinions.

The conversation begins with a seemingly innocuous topic, perhaps the weather. You, the unassuming conversationalist, might casually mention the unpredictable nature of climate change. Before you know it, you're knee-deep in a lecture about the end of the world as we know it, delivered with the conviction of a doomsday preacher and the charm of a tax audit. The liberal wields statistics and studies as if they were holy scriptures, each one pulled from the depths of their internet-infested memory palace, ready to be recited at the slightest provocation. Yet, when pressed for the source of their sacred knowledge, the room echoes with a deafening silence. It's as if the very act of questioning the oracle's wisdom is a heresy too vile to be acknowledged.

The plot thickens as the topic shifts to the economy. You present a reasoned argument, grounded in historical precedent and economic theory. The liberal's response is a torrent of buzzwords: "neoliberal," "late-stage capitalism," "income inequality." They toss these phrases around like confetti, assuming their mere utterance is a mic-drop moment. You attempt to clarify, to engage in a dialogue about the intricacies of fiscal policy, but alas, your words are met with the blank stare of someone who's just heard the plot twist of "The Sixth Sense" for the first time—except they've seen it seventy-four times. It's clear that in the liberal's utopian world, the economy is a mere plaything to be shaped by the invisible hand of social justice, guided by the wisdom of those who've never had to balance a checkbook, let alone a national budget.

As the evening wears on, the topic of the border crisis unfolds like a tragicomedy. The liberal's eyes glaze over with the passion of a thousand virtue signals as they recount tales of suffering refugees, each story more heart-wrenching than the last. Yet, when you ask them to consider the practicalities of unbridled immigration—the strain on resources, the potential security risks—you're met with accusations of heartlessness and racism. The very idea that a nation might have the right to secure its own borders is as foreign to them as a meat-free BBQ. In their world, the fiasco that is the border is less about policy and more about emotion, a canvas for their moral outrage to be painted in broad, uncompromising strokes.

Their monologue continues, shifting to the topic of healthcare. They speak of universal coverage as if it's as simple as adding a pinch of fairy dust to the pot of government stew. You dare to question the feasibility, pointing out that even in nations where such systems are in place, there are long wait times and rationed care. Yet, the liberal remains unfazed, insisting that the American system is the only one flawed, the only one that fails to provide for its people. The concept of trade-offs is as alien to them as the idea of a balanced diet to a Big Gulp-wielding couch potato. In their utopia, healthcare is a bottomless well of goodwill and resources, and anyone who suggests otherwise is clearly in the pocket of Big Pharma.

When the subject of education enters the fray, the liberal's eyes light up like a child in a candy store—until you bring up the controversial topic of school choice. To them, the mere mention of such a thing is a declaration of war on the sacred institution of public schooling. They recount tales of underfunded classrooms and underpaid teachers with the fervor of a parent whose child has just been denied a spot in an exclusive preschool. You present data showing how competition can drive innovation and improve outcomes, but it's like explaining quantum physics to someone who thinks the Earth is flat. They cling to the status quo, a lifeboat in their storm of ignorance, unwilling to consider that perhaps, just perhaps, there might be a better way to educate the masses.

Moving on to the topic of free speech, you find yourself navigating a minefield of contradictions. The liberal will champion the right of a student to protest a speaker they find offensive, yet scoff at the idea of a conservative voice on their own college campus. They'll defend the artistry of a comedian who makes a tasteless joke about a marginalized group, but scream for the cancellation of a show that dares to satirize their own beliefs. The concept of a marketplace of ideas is lost on them, replaced by a need to shield their fragile minds from the harsh realities of dissenting opinions. It's as if they've read "1984" but only took away the importance of good slogans and not the dangers of doublethink.

The dance of political correctness is another act in this tiresome play. You tiptoe around words, afraid to misstep and trigger the avalanche of accusations that follow. You dare to use a term that, five minutes ago, was socially acceptable, but is now a microaggression of epic proportions. The liberal's face contorts into a mask of indignation, ready to pounce on the slightest misstep. They wield the language of inclusivity as a bludgeon, forgetting that true understanding and empathy come from open dialogue, not linguistic gymnastics. It's a world where intent is irrelevant, and the only currency is the outrage you can stir up on Twitter.

You try to engage them in a conversation about the importance of clear communication and the absurdity of policing pronouns. But your words are lost in the fog of their self-righteousness. They spout terms like "gender spectrum" and "non-binary" as if they're incantations to ward off the demons of bigotry. You nod along, feigning understanding, as they explain the complexities of gender fluidity. Yet, when you ask for a clear definition, the room grows quiet. It's as if you've stumbled upon the one question that can't be answered by a hashtag or a Buzzfeed article.

The liberal's face contorts with the effort of explaining the unexplainable, their hands flailing in the air like a symphony conductor gone mad. They stumble through sentences that feel more like a Jackson Pollock painting than a coherent thought. "It's about respect!" they exclaim, as if that explains the sudden need to abandon millennia of linguistic tradition. "It's about not assuming someone's gender!" But in their quest to be all-inclusive, they've created a minefield of pronouns, where a simple "he" or "she" could be met with the social equivalent of a SWAT team. The irony is as rich as a triple-chocolate mousse cake—while trying to avoid offense, they've managed to make basic human interaction as fraught with tension as a game of Jenga played by a pair of octopuses.

Let us serve as a beacon of light in our convictions, steadfast in our pursuit of freedom, and vigilant in our defense of the Constitution