Last week, I lent myself to a demonstration against the policies of the federal government for the first time in 25 years when I stepped into a crowd at the State House.

I was protesting against politicians acting like car salesmen trying to convince me that my payments have been lowered to afford the model that they want me to buy, hoping that I won't notice how much I will have to pay in interest when they rewrite the 60,000-page agreement.

I see a future of federal taxes on tobacco, gas, liquor, water, soda, air conditioners, postage stamps, Red Sox caps and cute puppies funding the bailout and spending bills coming out of Congress.

Somehow, because I participated in this tea party, I've become fodder for the hostility of Obama supporters.

Their dismissive remarks suggest that I have neurological problems comparable to Frankenstein, know squat about American history and have had a predisposition since birth to become a pathological, anti-intellectual, hate-mongering, stupid, redneck, racist nut job.

Apparently, it was not my fault that I was motivated to tan my bald spot in Concord for an hour. I did not know I was being brainwashed by the likes of Glen Beck and Michael Graham to protest against a government experimenting with social engineering while juggling econocide.

As a result, the Department of Homeland Security has labeled me a possible "radical extremist" because I go to church a couple of times a year, give up my seat on buses for the elderly, hold doors open for strangers, send care packages to our troops, and don't believe in abortion or illegal immigration.

Hopefully, the next time I set foot in the Peterborough Job Lots to buy fertilizer for my spring garden, I won't be surrounded by 50 trigger-happy ATF officers just because I have a large bunion on my left foot and an unfortunate tendency to lean to the right.

(Brian Drummond lives in Peterborough.)