As a political writer I’m usually pretty happy when the right people don’t like me. Since my misspent youth most Democrats who have run into me or read my articles have considered me a dangerous reactionary. Good. I worked hard at acquiring that battle ribbon. But more recently, since last November, I seem to have received another encomium. Apparently, I have become, because I no longer support the recently former president, a RINO. At least, according to the slobbering populist hordes who make up the more fanatical devotees of said past president.

No more descriptions as a frothing Nazi by the Democrats or libertine radical by the bluestocking Right. Others have now decided my GOP party registration of 40 years is only a fig leaf for my eve-ill intentions. And who has made this decision as to my party status? Well, it must be the double secret RINO Certification Board. You’ve never heard of them? Let me enlighten you.

Various members of this august body, there seem to be many on social media, have taken it upon themselves to decide who is a real Republican and who is not. Who gave them this power? Well, I assume the RCB has a strict vetting process that includes verification of multigenerational inbreeding and tends towards approving for membership those who have a distinct penchant for pig-romancing.

Armed with these elite traits, the RCB feels duty bound to pronounce heresy upon anyone who speaks words with more than one syllable or who does not show sufficient deference to the above-mentioned former chief executive.

One can report hard news not favorable to Donald Trump, news that is common knowledge and highly verified, and be labeled a RINO if the last paragraph forgets to mention Mr. Trump’s complete mastery over time, space, and dimension. Be it a poll result, a quote from a Republican actually in office, or even political analysis that notes great things about the Trump administration, if the editorial bootlicking isn’t fulsome enough as to the personal qualities of Mr. Trump then the bedraggled legions of hayseeds and mouth breathers who take every Trump utterance as holy writ will flash their RCB card and the wicked blasphemer will be excommunicated faster than Thomas Becket cast the Bishop of Salisbury into outer darkness.

We’re not talking about your regular Trump supporters here. Many of them are of reasonable mind and sound judgment. We’re talking about the populist Republican flip side of every screeching Marxist in the Democrat Party. These robots of different ideologies but similar mindsets do not look for converts with whom to win elections. They are more festively entertained reaching out their bony dessicated fingers to point out someone who doesn’t meet their odd criterion for a good party member.

One wonders, is there an RCB for them? As Plato asked, “Who watches the watchers?” Who made them the RCB in the first place? The right question is not who, but what. It’s their belief that any Republican in good standing must bow down and scrape low to appease an egomaniacal bridge and tunnel idol of dubious divinity. I’ll have no part of it, regardless of any tired acronyms thrown my way.