Back in my Benedict Arnold period, we had lots of jokes about anarchists. One I recall was -- There's two anarchists sitting at the kitchen table making Molotov cocktails when one asks, “So, who are we going to throw these at?” The other gets a disgusted look on his face and replies: “What are you, a stinking intellectual?” In the fistfight that results, the kitchen blows up, taking the two anarchists with it.
The link was sent to me by a reader with this disgusted comment:
So much for the seriousness of this idiot; he can’t even concentrate on a mission or objective. So he’ll sell out his bleepin’ precious gun insurrection for a momentary high. Next week he’ll sell out the dopers for the shooters, or maybe the butt jockeys. It’s really all about Adam and His Magic Ego, isn’t it Adam?
Good question. It strikes me that the man is, at least, fundamentally unserious about the deadly-earnest task he has proposed to lead. If all he was risking was his own ass, well, that's one thing. But it isn't.