In the great scheme of things, you have the builders of bridges, the scions of progress who make new bridal paths for the iron monsters; they level the hills, straighten the curves.
And then you have those who specialize in traffic jams, the creators of confusion. You will find them everywhere, but especially around the produce districts, the places where garments are produced, liquor is sold, served, consumed, in the hell towns of the frontier, where money changes hands on the turn of the wheel, a toss of the dice.
It’s an art, a game played for keeps. In the great scheme of history, some play on a grand scale that spans continents, this ringolevio perfected in the market stall, the tailor shop, the trattoria.
Consider, then, a certain bambino of bombast, Pete Santilli, a self-described guerilla journalist of social media, talk show host, an activist, a man whose hyperbolic rhetoric stands out in stark relief among overarching competition from both left and right.
For a sample of what this ex-Marine is capable of in his daily rant, follow this link: