This is just a friendly reminder that if United States President Barack Hussein Obama happens to be reelected, this is why.
Osama bin Laden died as a martyr, but not his way. Bin Laden died at the hands of Seal Team Six in the name of everything he ever hated. Incidentally, he died to propagate that which Americans also hate.
While I don’t agree with his decision to name people specifically (note: I don’t care who he actually named), I find it difficult to disagree with this man on all but one issue. The notion that politically-minded Americans willing to give campaign contributions to honest politicians will somehow outweigh the collective corporate dollar is, like Paul Jay suggested, Utopian. It’s just so far from realistic that we could give enough money to enough candidates to turn the tides against the forces that be (and cheat to exist).
It was so funny (creepy) to me when campaign people came by my house seeking campaign contributions on behalf of Obama, after it was already so clear that he had the best media team in the Presidential history. How is that? Lotsa fucken money, folks. More than all of us put together could ever have come up with in order to stop him.
And it’s a well-known fact of politics, as well as the main reason people hate and distrust Washington, that corporations have a lot of money they’re willing to spend on people they know will protect their interests – and there are sleazy assholes willing to betray their countrymen by accepting it (and still can somehow sleep at night). Well, it’s nice to see someone stating it so poignantly and my only hope is this kind of articulation becomes mainstream. How that will happen without “big media” – or without big media hijacking the movement is beyond the scope of my imagination.
Please, Gods of Reason. Rescue us all from this sea of shit, and get me off the boat of feces. Or, stand up and think for yourselves, America. But don’t look to me; for even as a man of peace, I see no peaceful resolution.
Casa Grande, Ariz.– The predominantly white inhabitants of suburban Casa Grande paraded through the streets Friday celebrating the announcement of the closing of all the Borders in the country.
Shortly before the announcement, leader of the White Brotherhood Southern Arizona Chapter Harold Smith heard rumors of Borders closing. Harold gathered his people together in a Border’s bookstore parking lot at the mall – because it is a good place to meet, he said, and they have plenty of parking today for some reason.
Harold stood on the tailgate of his pickup truck in front of a jubilant crowd at their Patriot Rally and declared, “We will finally be free from the sub-human scum a the earth – who push our health care costs higher. I mean, shit. I might not go to the dentist, but bitch, these cheeseburgers ain’t doin’ my heart no favors!” The crowd laughed and applauded.
“He’s too much!” guffawed Stevie Hargrove, 40, a toothless overalls-clad spot-welder from Tucson. Stevie clapped at every opportunity, beaming a gummy smile up to his leader, squinting through matted, sweaty hair into Harold’s silhouette against the sun.
Harold continued. “And I ain’t got no insurance because Obama wanted to force me to get it and how d’you think he’s gonna pay for that? That Moslem was gon’ tax the wealthy to pay for it, that’s how; so I don’t even fucken want it!” The crowd again erupted into a frenzy of whistles and cheers just as a vein burst in Harold’s forehead, spraying crimson hate into the yawning mouths and down the throats of onlooking slack-jawed hillbillies whose thirst for identity only grew drier under the bottomless black ocean of beer-soaked convictions swirling unseen in Harold’s cold, beady eyes. A rainbow formed under the blood mist spewing forth from the man’s skull, and at the end of it sat a Confederate flag, perched in the grass, with a little sticker on its miniature flagpole that read, “Made in China.”
“And that brown uncivilized scum who keeps minimum wages artificially high by taking low pay for jobs that was originally intended for everyday Americans like me and Bo! Jobs like mopping up coffee shops, unloadin’ book trucks and washing the walls inside a the killhouses.”
At that, Smith’s crowd of white nationalists almost did not hear the news update over the ruckus of their own hate-filled fervor, as some frothed at the mouth and fell to their knees, speaking in tongues. But for those who could read, the closed captioning on the JumboTron News Report said everything [if it said anything].
A fictitious TV news program that actually broadcasts real news reported:
Because of mismanagement and glaring lack of foresight, Borders Bookstores all across America are shutting down permanently. Infamous for carrying only mainstream authors, and notorious for grossly overestimating the number of orange people willing to read Snooki’s biography – Border’s Inc. lowered literary standards faster than anyone could possibly write a book about it. Yet, here you are celebrating your racism underneath a giant flat-screen TV. Don’t act like you’re upset. Nothing changed. You don’t even read.
Dumbfounded mouth-breathers all across America stood solemnly, Budweiser in hand, making not a sound. For two minutes they stood, reflecting on their own hatred; but hatred of what, exactly, became unclear. A small child clutching a teddy bear to her chest tugged at her mother’s dress. “Mummy? You mean they ain’t relocatin’ dem filtty wetbacks?” But her mother was too grief-stricken to answer.
Quietly they to stood until local pig farmer Jerry Pritchard, 48, broke the silence.
“Well,” Jerry started. “I hate books, too. I mean, shit. I like the Bible! Hell, who doesn’t. But you guys know what I mean. I mean, fucken … books, man.” Jerry’s detestation was met with groans of agreement, though many people were still visibly confused by the notion of a store specializing in the sale of bound paper.
Jerry licked his lips, picked up his courage and spoke again. “You guys still wanna…” Jerry clasped his hands together behind his back and toed a boot in a wide arc in the sand. “…Still wanna drag somebody behind my truck?”
The crowd again frothed and wriggled through the congregation of pickup trucks toward Jerry’s truck, chanting U-S-A and someone came up with “George Snorwell” which was repeated several times from within the group. Only the intellectual rednecks who got the reference laughed. The others just went along with it.
“But before we go,” Jerry continued, “I want to stop by Borders’ clearance sale. Larry th’Cable Guy’s thing is 40% off!”