Mike Vanderboegh, the militia leader behind the creepy “break their windows, break them now” rallying cry for vandals to attack Democratic lawmakers’ offices, is quite a character. He’s a gun nut … sorry, “enthusiast” who is obsessed with the idea that the Obama administration is going to confiscate his assault weapons … a blogger who created something called the Sipsey Street Irregulars, apparently based on a book he’s writing (Turner Diaries II, perhaps?) … a self-described “Christian libertarian small-r republican” who calls himself a “three percenter” or “threeper” — a group of gun owning, right wingers who live by the following “doctrine”:
The Three Percent are the folks the Founders counted on to save the Republic when everyone else abandoned it.
And we will.
There will be no more free Wacos and no more free Katrinas.
For we are the Three Percent.
We will not disarm.
You cannot convince us.
You cannot intimidate us.
You can try to kill us, if you think you can.
But remember, we’ll shoot back .
We are not going away.
We are not backing up another inch.
And there are THREE MILLION OF US.
Your move, Mr. Wannabe Tyrant.
And, as things begin to spin out of control, remember this:
“All politics in this country now is just dress rehearsal for civil war.” — Billy Beck, August 2009.
Vanderboegh is also a rather pretentious would-be author who penned this creepy as hell “two act” online called “The Gatekeeper”, last August, in which a Congressman is murdered by the husband of “Theresa,” a woman “killed by healthcare rationing” in 2012. A clip:
A Tragi-comedy by Mike Vanderboegh in two scenes, playing soon at a congressional office near you.
Scene the First
13 December 2012
Chuck fumbled with the keys, dropped them, snatched them up and, finally, got the door open. The hospice nurse, alerted by the noise, was already up and standing in the middle of the front room. One look at her careworn face told the story.
“I’m sorry Mr. Daniels,” she said anyway. “She’s gone.”
Chuck dropped his keys on the table as he always did, cognizant only of the thought that nothing would ever be the same again.
Theresa was dead, then. Killed by health care rationing.
They had known this was the way it was going to be. Theresa had even stood in the town meeting, oh, how long ago, and told the congressman that if the Health Care Bill passed as written that it would come to this. They never thought it would be her. But she had been right. Government health care killed her. Too late diagnosed. Finally treated, too little, too late. And then, at the last, the “gate keepers” refused to pay for an experimental treatment that had shown great promise. Too “unproven,” they said.
Now she was gone.
What was there left to say?
Maybe, just maybe, there was one thing. …[Emphasis added]
And the big finish:
Scene the Second
21 December 2012
The congressman was alone as he finished cleaning out the desk drawers in his local office. He’d laid off the rest of his staff, and even his secretary and part-time bed partner had gone, seeking other employment. …
… The door to his office opened, and suddenly a man stood there. What the hell? I know I locked the front door.
“Who the hell are you?” the congressman demanded.
The man looked inoffensive enough. He had a beaten air about him. A sadness.
“I’m Theresa’s husband.” …
… “And congressman?”
The congressman just looked at him.
The shot seemed impossibly loud, even in the palatial room.
Apart from writing murder fantasies about members of Congress spurred on by healthcare reform, and doing radio interviews in which he suggests that Nancy Pelosi’s life may be in danger and that only heaving bricks through the windows of Democrats can stop the country from descending into civil war, Mike Vanderboegh is also one other thing: a Social Security Disability pensioner, living on the public dime. (H/T to ThinkProgress):
Vanderboegh has not thrown bricks at windows himself, he said, noting that he gets around with the help of a cane. …
… Vanderboegh is on Social Security Disability and uses private insurance obtained through his wife’s employment, he said.
There’s really no end to the irony, is there?
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