The Bundys in Winter: Hey, Read a Little History, Pals (Umm, Hitler, Napoleon?)

Napoleon tried, people died. As with Hitler. Bundys tried. Forgot
Vanilla Creamer and hair conditioner. Maybe not the same lesson,
and I got the feeling it'll end better. More whacko, less Waco.

I'm a rule of law kind of guy -- if the bankers did it, jail, please -- but the rule of law has a weird way of playing out. Robin Hoods are best left uncaptured sometimes lest we turn them into martyrs. Nelson Mandella, for Pete's sake.

The Bundys of Cliven's loin cry out to be caught in nets and hustled to the nearest "Scared Straight" boot camp for a few weeks of "CANYOUHEREME! YESSIR!" therapy, but then again depriving them of hazelnut creamer and Netflix might do just as good. Here's how it plays out:

• They show up in snowy remote Oregon.
• Say they're in it for years.
• Invite the WORLD.
• The WORLD doesn't show up.
• The snacks barely show.
• Oops, no marshals to get in a firefight with.
• Get tired of cleaning their guns and keeping their powder dry.
• Start wondering why no one joined them and the town doesn't like them.
• Getting gas to keep the batteries charged is getting expensive, Rambo refuses to pay his fair share.
• Media trucks down from 12 to 3.
• Trump suggests Grundy should reconsider his strategy. Bundy sends correct name to Trump, who responds Grundy, Bundy, Sunday, Gumbi, whatever!
• 2 media trucks leave, down to 1.
• Dawn breaks one morning, and hey, no Grundys, I mean Bundys, remaining men have pow wow and decide fuck I'm not staying.
• Down to 0 media trucks.
• Casualties: one dead battery, Ammond's dog has touch of frostbite, 2 journalists bang knee slipping on stone steps covered in ice, unknown participant accidentally dumped an entire box of Fruit Loops in the snow.

 Or we could have a little mini-siege of Stalingrad and kill them all. You pick 'em.

Die like dogs or free mani-pedis. Fun watching this play out!