Once in a while something comes along that gets me going again, that gives me hope for this country, that reminds me what we are and come from, that makes me soar!
This, from Harvey at imao.us in Obama Forgets This at His Peril, is just such a thing:
There is a story, a joke in some ways, an allegory in others, that dates way back. In it, a British Lord travels to the Frontier West, America in the 1800′s. His horse throws a shoe on the trail, so at the first little frontier town he comes to, he finds a blacksmith’s shop to have the shoe replaced. As he rides up, he sees a large, sweaty, filthy man hammering on a piece of red-hot iron. The Lord sits on his horse, waiting to be served, but the blacksmith doesn’t pay him any attention and continues to work his iron. Finally, the Lord, outraged to have been ignored this way by an obvious servant, dismounts, approaches the ‘smith, and taps the man on the shoulder with his riding crop.
“You, man!” he barks, “Who is your Master! I wish to have a word with him!”
The blacksmith turns, looks at the Englishman, spits a stream of tobacco juice on the point of the Lord’s boot and says,
“That sumbitch ain’t been born.”
That’s one idea Americans share.