I GOT YOUR UNICORN RIGHT HERE, KEVIN

Here's National Review's Kevin Williamson, "reporting" from the Climate March in New York:

The streets of Manhattan are teeming with hippie filth this afternoon as the People's Climate March (and Rally Against Personal Hygiene on General Principles) rolls through town like an addled occupation force. One particularly loopy-looking couple of well-seasoned veterans of the protest circuit, little signs reading "Divest from Fossil Fuels" pinned to their shirts, were desperately trying to hail a taxi. New York City taxis, as everybody knows, run on magic. I offered them a ride in my invisible solar-powered unicorn chariot; they did not take me up on it.

This is the same Kevin Williamson who once wrote the following:

Taxation is as a phenomenon identical to theft in that it involves the non-consensual transfer of property from one party to another. Insisting that taxation cannot be identical to theft because it is lawful is an exercise in question-begging: Does the endorsement of 50 percent + 1 of the voting population transform the seizure of property into something else? Is formal statutory codification the only criterion for “lawfulness”? If so, how can we say that the Third Reich or the U.S.S.R. murdered their millions -- when their actions were perfectly lawful? Either lawful means something more than formal codification, or it is a trivial standard.

So taxation, according to Williamson, actually is theft, and is analogous to the Holocaust and Stalin's terror-famine. And yet there was Williamson watching the Climate March from a public street -- a street built and maintained by tax dollars! With order maintained by tax-remunerated police officers! And Williamson's blog post was transmitted over the Internet, the development of which depended on tax-funded military technology! But ... but ... but I thought it was the height of hypocrisy to criticize a ubiquitous aspect of modern life and also avail oneself of it!

I offered to transport Williamson to and from the march in my all-private Randian Unicorn Spaceship, idling about the festivities so he'd never have to sully his wingtips by allowing them to touch tax-defiled pavement. I was also prepared to convey his jottings back to NR via free-market homing pigeons. But he did not take me up on it.