For as much as your average Republican weirdo likes to complain about “virtue signaling” on the left, the truth is that American conservatism is fundamentally a pyramid scheme demarcated by various shibboleths, without which an aspiring young fascist cannot ascend.
Most of these shibboleths you already know: stuff like “Lock Her Up” and “Build The Wall” and “Fight Fight Fight.” To get further up the MAGA pyramid, you have to deploy an increasingly complex and insane roster of catchphrases and claims that signify to the powers that be that, yes, you’re ready to run for your local school board or lead a boycott of a nearby children’s bookstore. You get the picture.
Weird as that all is, it’s in the uppermost echelons of the conservative structure where things get really nuts. Passwords and political slogans won’t cut it anymore. To be a Republican power player, you have to have a little skin in the game. And, by all indications lately, that skin needs to come from a dog that you have personally killed.
Why? I have no idea. But the evidence is pretty incontrovertible—especially now, when, for the third time this year, a major conservative figure is embroiled in a mutt murder scandal.
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