by George Sibley
Most of the local Tea Party leadership was sitting on a bench in front of a local coffeeshop as I came out from a meeting, right by the bike rack where my trusty rusty bike waited patiently. Three of them – call them Tom, Dick and Harry, names changed to protect – whatever. I know two of them by name and vice versa, although we’ve never talked much. But as I grabbed my bike and kicked up the stand, saying something polite seemed to be in order. Rather than the weather, I decided to try flattery.
“Wow,” I said, “seeing the three of you here like this makes me think the government should fear for its future.”
