East Coast Flyover

It’s no secret that the cosmopolitan urbanites hate with a burning passion those they consider the “little people.” By little people, I mean blue collar whites, rednecks, homesteaders and deplorable Trump supporters. This forgotten class is typically described as being located in flyover America – the plains of Kansas, Appalachian hollers, the Rust Belt and areas not chic enough for hipsters to colonize. Those aren’t the only places that can be considered “flyover” though.

It’s called “flyover” by our shitlib political and cultural overlords because it’s the ignored and discarded swaths of America. Jet setting from California to New York, your average Silicon Valley bugman could care less what happens in Branson, Missouri. Hell, they probably couldn’t find the Show Me State on the map. They know people live there, but they know instinctively they’re the enemy  of progress and pozz. It’s why shitting on Joe Sixpack is encouraged in all areas of our effeminate and degraded culture. These traditional Americans, really salt-of-the-earth types, are the “other” to the rootless neo-nomads that call home the airport, their iPod and fashionable spots in New York, DC or Miami.

There’s another element to “flyover country” that always gets missed though. Conservative and reactionary pundits will be quick to call their opponents “coastal elites,” but what about the flyover on the coasts? Not every inch of the coast is politically ruled by catladies, dainty numales and foaming at the mouth anti-white progressives.

A Democrat operative may catch a flight from DC to Atlanta, but they’re content to ignore  the millions of “Trump people” that live on the coasts. I’m of course talking about whites. Colored people, by and large, vote for progressive policies. They don’t mind being ridiculed and forgotten by their proto-communist rulers, as long as they vote the right way.

The Albe