Commentary

The story of Ron DeSantis’s amazing, awesome, heroic life

March 14, 2023 6:53 am

Gov. Ron DeSantis speaks during an event spotlighting his newly released book, “The Courage To Be Free: Florida’s Blueprint For America’s Revival,” at the Orange County Choppers Road House & Museum on March 08, 2023 in Pinellas Park. (Photo by Joe Raedle/Getty Images)

This is the book wrote by me, Ronald Dion DeSantis, aged 44-½. I wanted to call it “My Struggle,” but Casey said that wasn’t a good idea. So, we gave it the title “The Courage to be Free.”

Because it’s all about courage. My courage. It’s about freedom, too: my freedom to make everybody do whatever I want. And it’s the story of my amazing, awesome, heroic life, which is endorsed by the Almighty, who made me on the Eighth Day, which I guess was a Monday.

Like the ad from my campaign says: “a family man. A man who would laugh and then sigh, and then reply with smiling eyes when his daughter says she wants to spend her life doing what dad does. So, God made a fighter.”

Me.

I was born in a log cabin I helped to build. This was in a remote frontier territory called Duval County. I might have had to make a living splitting rails and fighting bears, but my family soon moved to Dunedin. There I discovered baseball.

I am very good at baseball.

I am proud to be a native Floridian, as long as you don’t expect me to use “y’all” in a sentence, but in my soul I am a Midwesterner with the Rust Belt values of God, censorship, and no regulations. My family, humble, hard-working folk from Ohio and Pennsylvania (not the elite parts), raised me with Rust Belt values: guns, not gays; burgers, not broccoli; dogs, not cats; boxers, not briefs; baseball, not soccer.

Did I mention I am really awesome at baseball?

Maoist ping pong

My baseball talent took me to exotic places like Gulfport, Clearwater, even Jacksonville. Once me and my team played Ping-Pong against the baseball team from Taipei, Taiwan, a capitalist country full of hard-working people similar to Midwesterners except for the food.

It was then that I discovered my hatred of the Chinese Communist Party. The Taipei kids played Ping-Pong to have fun; obviously, mainland Chinese kids play to push a Maoist agenda.

Then I got into an elitist college called Yale because, in addition to being awesome at baseball, I am very smart.

(Author’s note: I know elite types from the Legacy Media will say stuff about how I keep using the word “elite,” like “bureaucratic elites,” “power-hungry elites,” “woke elites,” and “progressive elites.” Yeah: I use the word “elite,” like, 20 times in the first 12 pages of my book because real Americans hate elites, and I have a primary to win.)

Yale sucked. I showed up on my first day in shorts and flip-flops, while everybody else wore tuxedos and rode in limousines. Also, the professors were snotty, openly flaunting their reading of dirty books by communist Friedrich Engels, pornographer Toni Morrison, and a trans woman calling herself George Eliot.

It was a horrible shock to a person whose Midwestern, Rust Belt parents held down American jobs in iron, steel, and the Nielsen TV ratings industry.

At Yale, they told me I had to balance my brilliant academic achievement, my fantastic sports success, and my cultivating the sense of invented grievance which would serve me well in my future political career.

But I chose to dedicate 100 percent to all of my goals, which means I was giving 300 percent, something the elites would never understand.

Ivy elites

I worked my way through college, moving furniture, picking up trash left by elites, and retrieving balls at Yale soccer matches.

Soccer is a decadent European sport. Not like baseball.

(Author’s Note: It is true that I joined a club called “Delta Kappa Epsilon,” which some have said is elite because George H.W. Bush, George W. Bush, J. Danforth Quayle, Rutherford B. Hayes, J.P. Morgan, one of the Lehman Brothers (I forget which), and Justice Brett Kavanaugh are also Dekes. I left this out because the Legacy Media would twist it into some lie involving “fraternities” and “beer.”)

I hated Yale so much I went to Harvard for law school. Nobody told me Harvard was also elitist, also against my solid Ohio-Dunedin-America-best values, and it snowed there, too. Unlike other people, I didn’t go on vacations to the Riviera to drink with foreigners who hate our freedoms.

I went into the Navy instead. I am way taller than Tom Cruise. Don’t believe the corporate media about me wearing heels.

Anyway, back to the Navy. Sing it with me: “Highway to the DANGER ZO-O-ONE!”

I trained with the SEALS. I got some medals, which look awesome on my white uniform.

(Author’s note: I never said I was a SEAL. If some people think I implied it in the book, that’s their problem.)

As a JAG lawyer, I performed critical work at Guantánamo. In an attempt to defeat America by dying, the terrorists would go on hunger strike. We foiled their plan by pouring Ensure down their gullets.

Guess what happens when you swallow gallons of Ensure? You poop your pants like a champ!

(Author’s note: The U.N. crowd said this was “torture.” Plus, some “woke” commie media got hold of private “public documents” about my tour at Gitmo. Yes, I was an Assistant Urinalysis Coordinator.)

Wine-drinking elitists

Back stateside, I met the most righteous babe, Miss Casey Black. She was perfect, by which I mean she grew up in Ohio. With Ohio values: respect for our flag, our military, our God, and also extreme hotness.

I took her to Beef O’Brady’s and, next thing you know, we’re getting hitched at Disney.

The Mouse wasn’t invited. Have you heard him talk? He’s obviously gay. And that Duck: Where are his pants?

This kind of stuff is why I took Disney down. I don’t want my children growing up in a woke country where ducks can expose themselves and princesses are “multicultural” and they cancel “The Song of the South” because of critical race theory.

Anyway, I ran for Congress, which I totally had not been planning to do ever since I was at Yale.

Of course I won. But I didn’t like it. D.C. is full of wine-drinking elitists who like dinners where there are six forks, four knives, and French.

I couldn’t wait to go home to Florida, God’s paradise, and run for governor.

Of course I won. It did not have anything to do with Donald Trump (who is not that tall) endorsing me, either.

I beat a socialist Black man who called me a racist and ended unconscious and naked on the floor of a hotel room with a male escort.

I mean, I’m sorry for his family and all, but this country needs to get back to God and the Federalist Papers. This kind of thing didn’t happen in the 1780s.

Top Gov

The rest, as you know, is history. OK, some of it’s happening now, but it will be history after I win in 2024

(Author’s note: Casey says I shouldn’t talk about that yet. But how about that campaign ad, the one where I slowly and sexily zip up my flight suit? “Top Gov!” Might use that ad again next year. And if you assume I flew fighter jets in the Navy, that’s your problem.)

Under my watch, the people of Florida are free — free to vote for me.

If you’re a drag queen, trans, an actual woman with, like, a uterus, a scientist, a woke college professor, a librarian, an Ivy League lawyer, one of those climate doomsayers, a vaccine promoter, hydroxychloroquine-hater, 1619-lover, Founding Father-disser or Democrat, you are in need of some discipline. From me.

You’re welcome.

I’m going to make America Florida, blessing the whole nation with our sprawl, our runaway insurance costs, and our blue-green algae — all of which mean people are getting rich!

Some people.

When I’m in the White House, I will protect our babies. In fact, I will appoint a baby to my cabinet.

Schoolchildren will salute the flag and report any teachers who mention Barack Obama or teaches books by communists such as Nikole Hannah-Jones.

Girls will wear dresses and white gloves (like our awesome First Lady!) and boys will wear pants and train to be soldiers with the Proud Boys.

We will repeal the 22nd Amendment.

I am chosen by God and will be president as long as I want.

Now send my PAC some money. I’m watching. God is watching.

This column was originally published in the Florida Phoenix.

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Diane Roberts
Diane Roberts

Journalist Diane Roberts has been a member of the Editorial Board of the St. Petersburg Times – back when that was the Tampa Bay Times’s name - and a long-time columnist for the paper in both its iterations. She was a commentator on NPR for 22 years and continues to contribute radio essays and opinion pieces to the BBC, and is a regular columnist for the Florida Phoenix.

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