I bid you stand, Obamacare Protesters of the West!

Outside the townhall location, and before the doors have opened for the meeting, the purple shirt union bullies are preparing to attack. They have baseball bats. And they refuse to offer private ballots.

Across the street, holding a diverse collection of hand lettered signs, stand the Obamacare protesters. The younger men are nervous. The older men, including the military veterans, study the purple shirts and factor in the surrounding ground: quietly assessing the strategic and tactical circumstances. Quiet, prudent calculation is their way: best not to alarm the womenfolk. The middle-aged women are resolved: they have no doubts; give no consideration to backing down as an option. The older women want blood. If unleashed, the older women will damage some cojones and ambush-knock some noggins before this hour is over.

The purple shirts really have no idea what they are facing on the inside of the Obamacare protest crowd. If the purple shirts knew, they would run. The protest crowd is nervousy. However, if moved to action, the protest crowd will not back down. The old protester women chase off burglars with broomsticks. What do they care about either odds of success or potential cost of failure? They are old women: they care about righteousness and retribution, only. If they are injured, at least the grandkids will visit them in the hospital. If they are killed, it publicly validates the martyrdom they have endured their entire lives, and for which they have never received proper respect, dammit.

A van speeds into the gap between the two groups, skidding to a stop. Joe the Plumber leaps out. He's wearing a polo shirt, plus light makeup to cut down the glare from his bald head (he is scheduled on Cavuto later in the day). From the back of his plumbing van, he begins tossing heavy wrenches to the accountants and middle managers in the Obamacare protesters crowd. And some heavy duty plungers. He shrewdly fails to arm the older women (would be too dangerous for everyone). As he tosses wrenches and plungers, he shouts out:

Hold your ground! Hold your ground!
Sons of Hayek! Daughters of Reagan!
My brothers and sisters!

I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me.
A day may come when the courage of men fails,
when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship,
but it is not this day!

An hour of socialism and submission,
when the age of health care freedom comes crashing down!
But it is not this day!
THIS DAY WE FIGHT!

By all that you hold dear on this good Earth,
I bid you stand, Men and Women of the West!