Joe Buck went to the local market where his buddies of like mindedness hung out at a pair of tables where paying customers ate deli meals like Jo-Jos and the store’s famous monster tacos.
Rob Roy laughed to an off-colored joke about Barack Obama when he came in. “Joe, you heard the news?”
“If it ain’t on Fox, It ain’t news, Rob.”
“Well it seems President Trump done designated Antifa a terrorist organization and he’s gonna round them rascals up and get them arrested.”
“Well, don’t that beat all. You know what an antifa looks like?” Joe asked the group. They all shook their heads no. “Me neither. I couldn’t begin to tell what one looks like from the other.”
“Well, maybe the President knows what they look like,” Rob volunteered. “He keeps telling us they’re vermin and a disgrace to us true American patriots.”
“He tells us all sorts of things, Roy,” Billy Joe snickered and laughed. “How about those gasoline prices going way down? Or price of eggs for that matter.”
“Billy, you are looking more and more like an antifa the more you talk bad about our president,” Joe exclaimed.
“Well excuse me for having an opinion,” Billy Joe rebutted. “He might be better than Biden, but not by much. They’re both old as dirt and dumb as rocks. What we need is someone who gets the job done but keeps his mouth shut when it ain’t his concern.”
“You got a point there, Billy,” Rob Roy told him. “Maybe—wait what does antifa mean?”
“Back during World War Two it meant anti-fascist,” Jerry, the quiet one chimed in from a back table sitting in the back chair near the window.
“Oh how I hate you know-it-all college boys,” Joe Buck exclaimed. “I supposed we best get our antifa tags down at the sporting goods store. I wonder how much the state charges for that tag.”
“Yeah, and whether there’s a bag limit,” Rob Roy exclaimed with a hearty laugh.
Jerry Schellhammer 