I'd like you to meet someone. I'd call him "my friend" but we have a quiet little ideological war going underneath the pleasantries.
We'll call him Wingnut Coworker, or occasionally when I am feeling personal, Wingnut Bill.
Wingnut Coworker is a white middle aged man, going bald, with a bit of a paunch. You wouldn't give him a second glance on the street (unless he was holding a sign). He has a steady blue collar job. He lives in Anytown USA, where 70% of the population works for government contractors but 70% of that population thinks the government is way too big, and is uncomfortable with the presence of Yoke's Farm Fresh Market.
I think Wingnut CoWorker may have some rage issues. Even mundane topics about his job can get him rocking in his desk chair. You can hear him all the way down the hall. People new to the building always ask why I keep my door open.
It is because I choose, rather than feel anger or pity, to be amused. I like to savor the Wingnut like tart fruit. And then I write it down and post it on the Internet.