The left has every right to fear me. And to be honest I’m the worst kind of sleeper cell agent for the right because I’m not really a political guy. Most of the time I think politics is boring—I don’t like politicians and I can’t speak with much confidence when it comes to current events.
I don’t know dick about senators, congressmen, law, who voted for what . . . you get the idea. But why am I always the subject of heated controversy? The world I live in has made various leftist ideologies mainstream. So by contrast, my views, as mundane and unoriginal as I think they are, become the subject of scrutiny and scorn.
I don’t know what it’s like to have safe opinions. I have to keep most of my social media private, my coworkers at my day job aren’t allowed to follow me and I have to cloak myself in mystery in order to not get fired. Are my views that dangerous? Do you even know what they are? Most—actually: ALL!—of the criticism I get is rooted in personal attacks disguised as political criticism. Women I’ve fucked or never fucked, people who played in terrible bands I shit on, and virtual-signaling fags that want to fit in jump on the Alex-Is-a-Nazi bandwagon with all one thing in common: they’re utterly full of shit.
I don’t know who this cuck is, but apparently he’s dating some retard that hates me because I voted for Trump.
Matt is a shitty DJ and a junkie and Stef is some fat white trash who’s still salty about the fact that I got promoted over her at Urban Outfitters a million years ago.
Matt and I dated the same chick, he used to have dreads and his band is terrible. Mike is a fat, bald dipshit who cosplays as a soccer hooligan. And look at his choice of language: “alledgedly happens to be sorta tight…[sic] ”
It shows a lack of conviction. To be clear, Mike—I am indeed friends with Gavin McInnes.
ALL of them have ZERO knowledge of my political views, but they feel the need to talk shit because I’m their sole connection to a larger story, Proud Boys. Their lives are boring, meaningless, and like everyone else in this world they’ll eventually die and be forgotten.
I introduce all this to show why I get immediately defensive when someone I don’t know wants to talk to me about Proud Boys, Trump or just my theories.
When it does happen and the person is GENUINELY curious, I can make them into a believer—or at the very least get them to question their own narrative.
Last month I was at a Mr. T Experience show in Philadelphia, home of some pretty violent Antifa. Someone asked “Alex?” and instantly I was ready to fight. It was a friend I’d met online and he introduced me to his girlfriend and a couple they were with. They’d heard about me and my controversial nature and they all seemed pretty intrigued. Oh wow? A Real Proud Boy? A Trump supporter.
I’m not a Trump cheerleader. And to be clear, I never go into a conversation intending to change someone’s mind. I just want the opportunity to explain why I believe what I believe. I’m also open to being wrong, especially when presented with new data.
I went into my “Trump is Rodney Dangerfield in Caddyshack” spiel and that I hate politicians and the government and I see him as a saboteur. One of them brought up abortion using the language pillow “women’s choice.” I told her I think abortion is wrong and it’s murder but I don’t want the state to have any law saying what you can and can’t do to your own body.
I followed up with the consistent view that I don’t want the state being able to take a life via capital punishment. I concluded by saying my opinions are just that—they are not law. They were dumbfounded and the female part of the couple I met said she had never heard arguments like that before.
Yeah, no shit.
That’s when I made the joke that I “roofied her drink with red pills.” If you don’t know what roofies are, all you need to know is that you’re better off to refuse any drink offered to you by Bill Cosby. I stay away from policy discussions and stick with theory. What I believe in supersedes whomever is in the White House. If this was 20 years ago, my theories would either be unimpressive or criticized for not being right wing enough, depending where I was in the country.
Fast-forward to two weeks later, Thanksgiving. I met a friend of my sister-in-law who rolled her eyes when I told her I wrote for this very magazine. She had recently seen the piece about us by NBC and had questions. Rather than going “YOU’RE NAZIS!” and throwing her pumpkin pie at me she had some pretty reasonable questions to which I was happy to answer.
Today we’re now a couple, so you could say she really was roofied with red pills. She threw a pie at me that night, but not a pumpkin one!
On the topic of talking to people and determining whether they’re curious or just an asshole that will waste your time, try slanting the line of questioning toward the topic of THEM. For instance, if someone asks about our alleged racism, return volley with, “What would it take to convince you we’re not racists?” If you instead go into the trap of identity politics and say, “We have black, Hispanic, Jewish members,” they STILL tend to claim white supremacy, scrambling for far-fetched rebuttals and convoluted illogical theatrics. Don’t give them the ball to hit back with. Make them come up with their own criteria to prove or disprove their hypothesis.
You’ll find life a lot easier once you filter out who will stomp their feet online and waste your time and who will gulp down that fizzy red drink of reason you hand them. They’ll always thank you for it.
Alex hands out red pills like candy on Twitter @AlexClarkCaprio