Like a Rock
Like a Rock:
The democrats hope you’re ignorant. They rely on it. In fact, just about all of Washington, including most republicans, hope you’re dumb as a rock. That way you’ll stay out of the business of government. The less you interfere, the happier politicians tend to be. Show up, cast the expected vote, pay your taxes, and then get out of the way so your betters can govern with minimal interference. In that sense, you’re a vote and nothing more.
This works perfectly fine for too many politicians. They don’t want your advice. They need to make deals that will satisfy their real base; large donors, corporate interests, banks, foreign companies, and even foreign countries, all are preferred to average Americans.
This is not a new phenomenon. It is simpler than that, it’s human nature. Self interest, magnified by limitless supplies of money, quickly turn patriots into traitors, much like satchels of drug money might to a broke cop trying to keep his/her head above the financial water-line. But, when election time rolls around, the working class once again become symbols of America. Steel workers, farmers laboring in fields of wheat, strong men laboring in the sun, women with children living in a Norman Rockwell landscape are touted as the real America—until the election is over—at which point these symbols of American life are stowed away until the next time they’re needed as props for a thirty second commercial—designed solely to get your vote.
In reality, you are hated. You are too dumb to govern. And, to think you might try and seize the reins of government, is their worst nightmare.
For decades both republicans and democrats openly talked about working class Americans as little more than cogs in a great financial wheel. But only to their own kind. Even the press played along because they agreed. It was the open secret of American life. The American worker as a symbol of American pride was really “Joe six pack,” a beer drinking slob with dirt under his nails. Woman were roaring lionesses to feminists, but only as long as they agreed with whatever feminist dogma was currently popular. Otherwise, they were dupes of the patriarchy, which their husbands conveniently represented.
As globalism seeks the unimpeded flow of money, labor and materials—so the greatest profit centers can be found and exploited—patriotism is changed from a symbol of pride, to a symbol of hate. Pride in one’s country is torn down by narrowing the focus of humanities past crimes to America only, with the world as America’s victim. Therefore Americans have an obligation to open our borders, pay reparations for slavery, colonialism, sexism, homophobia, gender phobia, with new categories of oppression to be announced a soon as they’re invented.
So, open your veins and your wallets America, and watch the blood and tax dollars flow. Why fight it, when you can max out your credit cards and party on down. The road to oblivion, after all, is the wide path. The narrow road is just too damned hard. You probably won’t be around to see what happens next anyway, even if your children and grandchildren are.
To quote Clint Eastwood, “It’s a generation of pussies.”
Amen to that, brother. Amen.
Mark Magula
The democrats hope you’re ignorant. They rely on it. In fact, just about all of Washington, including most republicans, hope you’re dumb as a rock. That way you’ll stay out of the business of government. The less you interfere, the happier politicians tend to be. Show up, cast the expected vote, pay your taxes, and then get out of the way so your betters can govern with minimal interference. In that sense, you’re a vote and nothing more.
This works perfectly fine for too many politicians. They don’t want your advice. They need to make deals that will satisfy their real base; large donors, corporate interests, banks, foreign companies, and even foreign countries, all are preferred to average Americans.
This is not a new phenomenon. It is simpler than that, it’s human nature. Self interest, magnified by limitless supplies of money, quickly turn patriots into traitors, much like satchels of drug money might to a broke cop trying to keep his/her head above the financial water-line. But, when election time rolls around, the working class once again become symbols of America. Steel workers, farmers laboring in fields of wheat, strong men laboring in the sun, women with children living in a Norman Rockwell landscape are touted as the real America—until the election is over—at which point these symbols of American life are stowed away until the next time they’re needed as props for a thirty second commercial—designed solely to get your vote.
In reality, you are hated. You are too dumb to govern. And, to think you might try and seize the reins of government, is their worst nightmare.
For decades both republicans and democrats openly talked about working class Americans as little more than cogs in a great financial wheel. But only to their own kind. Even the press played along because they agreed. It was the open secret of American life. The American worker as a symbol of American pride was really “Joe six pack,” a beer drinking slob with dirt under his nails. Woman were roaring lionesses to feminists, but only as long as they agreed with whatever feminist dogma was currently popular. Otherwise, they were dupes of the patriarchy, which their husbands conveniently represented.
As globalism seeks the unimpeded flow of money, labor and materials—so the greatest profit centers can be found and exploited—patriotism is changed from a symbol of pride, to a symbol of hate. Pride in one’s country is torn down by narrowing the focus of humanities past crimes to America only, with the world as America’s victim. Therefore Americans have an obligation to open our borders, pay reparations for slavery, colonialism, sexism, homophobia, gender phobia, with new categories of oppression to be announced a soon as they’re invented.
So, open your veins and your wallets America, and watch the blood and tax dollars flow. Why fight it, when you can max out your credit cards and party on down. The road to oblivion, after all, is the wide path. The narrow road is just too damned hard. You probably won’t be around to see what happens next anyway, even if your children and grandchildren are.
To quote Clint Eastwood, “It’s a generation of pussies.”
Amen to that, brother. Amen.
Mark Magula