Daddy Issues?

I suppose you can say I have a complicated relationship with my dad.  His relationship with my mom (holding sign) was brief but passionate; he still can't bring himself to speak of her even though she's been out of the picture since shortly after my first birthday.  I've been living with Dad ever since he opened the crate from Bangkok I was mailed to him in, and he has been good to me.  Okay, we did go through a phase in which he kept referring to me as his "helper monkey", but that lasted less than a decade.  I think he gained respect for me when I refused to continue picking pockets, and I gained respect for him when he discovered he could put to good use his talent for repeating outrageous lies with utter conviction, and make a good living selling cars to the undereducated rednecks that live in our area.

Like any teenager (since we grow up faster than humans, my adolescence began at six and ended at ten), I went through a rebellious phase.  Dad did not take kindly to my tolerant attitude towards people he called "socialists" and "traitors."  But I couldn't stop talking to everyone who didn't wear a flag pin, or harangue my teachers about union thugs and point out that my very existence was strong evidence against Darwin's ideas about speciation.  But his certitude and persistence won me over, and when a friend of his said that Breitbart's death "opened up a slot for another monkey at a keyboard", I started this blog to help him promulgate his political philosophy.  I do love him; he's my dad!

But with maturity comes independent thought (at least for me), and I have come to realize that "I hate Obama" leaves much to be desired as a philosophy.  I also have developed a sense of humor, something that Dad still does not suspect exists.  (The only time I've heard him laugh is when the news reports an execution, and it's more "Mua-ha-ha" than "Ha ha" even then.)  Dad's hinting I should find my own place.  I get along with his current wife (he goes through them pretty quickly--I've lost count), so that's not a problem.  He just can't deal with my refusal to toe the line he's drawn politically.  He lost it the other day when I questioned the need for photo IDs for voting, for instance.  Now I have to show my passport to get into the house.

As long as I have to move out, I may as well relocate to a place that's a little less, shall we say, butt-ignorant than the town we're in now.  That doesn't narrow my search much at all, but that's a good thing.  I'm open to suggestions.  The nice man who's helping me with this blog has offered to let me stay with him a while, but I was brought up to think that the DC area is Satan's orgy room and I don't know if I'm ready for such a dramatic repudiation of Dad's lifestyle.  Maybe someplace midway between my current town and DC on the liberal/conservative scale would be better, like Iowa.  Any thoughts?