Don't Take My Wife...Please

     Monsters are real.  They lurk amongst you, in darkness, in shadow, in the workplace.  In Mexican folklore they tell tales of a particularly slimy creature.  He comes to those who do not treat their wives with the love and respect that they deserve.   A monster  that will slither his way into your home, and enter the coital bed when you are away.  They call this menace the Sancho.  You may not believe what I'm telling you, but I know it's true, for I was the victim of this skeezy abomination.  The Sancho came for my wife one fateful evening, and a few times thereafter as well.  The smell of disappointment and resentment  attracted him, like chum attracts a school of ravenous sharks.  Much like those sharks, Sancho made quick work of my wife, feasting on her desperation and desires as if they were in short supply.  I was never offered the grace of an in person revelation of this tragedy, but rather had to find out through the world's ugly face found at the palm of my hand.  Sancho won't just fuck your wife, sometimes he will elect to penetrate your soul, your manhood, your pride.  As I stared down at the glowing screen that is the face of humanity's worst qualities I found Sancho starring right back, his grin sadistic and full of hubris.  My wife was by his side in this awful portrait of betrayal, smiling like she hadn't since the day she convinced herself that I was going to be the one.  The beams of internet light stabbed my eyes as I tried to process a picture I never could fathom.  Rage, sadness, curiosity all flooded my cortex.  I had no idea where to start.  Do I call her?  Do I fuck the next willing genitals with legs?  Do I cry, scream, laugh?  How about all of it?  I took the coward's way out and lubricated my psyche with Early Times whisky and PBR. 

I spent the next week trying to duct tape my pain to my guts with euphemisms like, "Fuck her, she deserves that piece of shit." and "I won't give those two the satisfaction of a meltdown, that's what she'd love, to have complete control, she won't get it!".  The dam I built would prove faulty, as it leaked rage all over every one who batted an eyeball at me.  I decided to "man up" and face this monster.  I was  Cuck Helsing on his way to slay the creature who had sucked my love dry of all her juices!

Sancho had been spotted hawking popcorn to movie goers at the local Cineplex.  That's where I would make my move.  I spent my short lunch shift at Buffalo Wild Wings stewing over my plan of attack.  As soon as I punched that clock I was in full on kill-mode.  I parked my shitty little Nissan behind the theater near the exit, in the event that a hasty escape would be needed.  

I wasted no time on strategy, and burst out of my car, darted toward the door as if Sancho's buttery salty popcorn dick would penetrate my ass if I missed a step.  My lover's scorned fervor was quickly halted when I looked up from the glass door and locked eyes with my prey.  We stared only for a blink, but it was enough to unleash yet another deluge of thoughts unto my brain; "What if I kill this man?", "What if he kills me", "Will they call the cops?", "Is my son gonna get hurt?".  I quickly scurried to the nearest bench and sunk myself deep into its cold slats.  I was only there for minutes, but it felt like days, then from around the corner, the monster appeared in grand WWE fashion.  His strut was only missing pyro and sweet generic metal guitar licks when he made his way over to me, balls to face. 

"You got a problem man?". 

I said nothing.

 "This is my work, you can't come up in here looking to start shit!"

 I didn't look at him, but mustered the strength to ask,

 "Were you fucking my wife while we were still together?" 

Sancho's bravado dulled a bit, and with a slight twinge of sympathy he said no.  It was almost, for a brief second, a glimmer of humanity and remorse.  Then I gave him what could be best described as a timid push, my hands more sinking into, rather than shoving his supple breasts.  "Don't do that bro!" Sancho pointed his little sausage of a finger that I assumed smelled of the vaginal fluids of other wives he had collected. 

"Fuck you, you wife fucking pussy!  Do somthing!",

 and as I let these foolish words slip from my mouth I raised my arms into the air like a stumpy Jesus welcoming sacrifice.  I was a beautiful target.

Sancho's first offering struck true, and landed right in my dumb face. I staggered back clumsily, stunned just long enough for him to pull my silly chicken boy uniform over my head.  Sancho let it rain bones.  I was able to slip away, and Sancho relented his attack.  I spit some blood out, along with what I think were a few popcorn kernels.

We both didn't know what to do next.  Sobriety was setting in fast and we both kind of panicked.  He started toward the entrance of the theater, but before he got to the door I said, "Just take care of her dude."  Sancho paused, looked at me and replied, "Pay your own child support bitch."  Then slinked off into the buttery abyss.

No, We Do Hit the Kids Enough...Too Much In Fact

"They wouldn't act like that if the parents gave em a smack!", dribbles from the mouths of your typical know it all back seat parent and or child abuser when in the presence of children who may be unruly.  You're right sicko, they wouldn't act like children if you smacked them, they would act like the victim of abuse; introverted, angry, confused, and seeking an unhealthy outlet for the rage they now feel because of your "parenting" style.  Violence engrained in the most delicate portion of our species is violence perpetuated by posterity unto the next generation. 
     I don't understand why a good majority of people I meet are under the impression that kids don't get hit anymore, when all those people and the people before them and so on where all struck as children themselves.  When looking at the dysfunctional cluster fuck that is the human race, I can't help but wonder if that is the one giant variable we overlook when questioning why the human condition hasn't really changed for the better.  Most of our major hang ups stem from violence, which comes in many forms.  The basis for this behavior is learned very early, when the mind is at its most malleable; If something is not as it should be, you may force it so by violent action.  A very simple example, if a kid is throwing a tantrum, slap them one in the mouth.  Then we wonder why these homunculus bar bros are pounding each other's faces in over an elbow nudge or a dirty look.  But it goes way deeper than that.  You have something I want, therefore I'll take it by force (violence is not always a physical act).  For example, a state covets the land and resources of another, so they take those by force.  Now Alex, that's a bit hyperbolic don't ya think?  Are you saying imperialism comes from giving Jr. a wrap on the ass when he won't shut up?  Common man!  I don't think so, no.  By hitting our children we are teaching them, "I want something, I get it, swiftly and without empathy."  "Yeah but I'm the parent, my child must learn respect, otherwise they'll become a bad person."  Maybe, but don't you think in order to teach respect we are better off showing children what it is, rather than exactly what it is not?  I'm not saying there should be no consequences for bad behavior, of course we should teach our children to be well mannered, but it seems very counter productive to show them that solving an issue through violence (even if that violence is verbal or psychological).  If a co-worker of mine is acting a fool at work, even if that co-worker is a subordinate, I can't hit them!  I'd go to jail possibly (depending on who it is I assault).  So why would you teach that method of problem solving to a child?  Now I understand that most states have tougher laws as it pertains to hitting children theses days (mostly fine as long as you don't leave a mark), but it's not the physical outcome of said violence that is the real damaging factor, it's the psychological one.
 

On Judicial Review: A Nipple in the Eye of Justice

So SCOTUS made yet another polarizing and controversial decision this week.  They decided that corporations, once again, are people, and women, once again, are not.  Big surprise right?  I could fill volumes of blogs complaining about how the SCOTUS is wholly owned by the Fascist States of Americorp, or how the general populace is once again being oppressed by the silly putty like drooping silver fox balls of old white cronies, or how Antonin Scalia probably has oddly long nipples inside weirdly small areolas, but I won't.  It's gotten to the point in this country, especially over the last few decades it seems, that the check the judicial branch of government is supposed to provide has become more of a nullification or even re-writing of the laws the so called "people's house" puts forth.  To lambaste the blatantly corporatist rulings handed down over the years by SCOTUS is an exercise in futility, as well as taking on each shitty ruling one at a time (which has gotten no where ever because the SCOTUS will always use stare decisis, Latin for we are never wrong so go fuck yourself.)  The old adage goes like this, "you must treat the disease, not the symptom".  Never has there been such a need for this wisdom.

The problem, the disease, (besides Scalia's crazy nips), is the institution of judicial review.  If you are not familiar with what that is, lemme sum up; judicial review is the process by witch the highest court of the land examines a law, not to see if it has been broken or violated, but rather if the law is in fact constitutional.  If the law in question is found to be unconstitutional then that law is no longer a valid statute or rule.  The SCOTUS has the power of precedent, a precedent they set for themselves during the Marshall court in Marbury V. Madison, the unprecedented case to which the first precedent was set for precedent setting by giving themselves the power of precedent and hence forth all decisions would uphold a precedent or set a new precedent, but rarely every go against a previously set precedent.  Marbury was appointed a judge by Paul Giamatti, but the paperwork didn't go through until Giamatti left office to play the Rhino in the Amazing Spiderman 2.  The guy on the nickel became president, and was all like fuck yo appointments Paul Giamatti, and told his secretary of state not to process the papers that would allow Marbury to become a judge.  John Marshall, the chief justice at the time, wrote the court's opinion in the ruling,(that was in favor of Marbury, in case you give a shit).  In that opinion, Marshall decided that the SCOTUS needed a bit more power than it already had, and decided, despite no mention of it in the constitution anywhere, that it was well within the power of the supreme court to judge the constitutional validity of a law itself, not just whether it had been breached.  This was one of president nickel guy's biggest regrets as POTUS, letting this precedent happen without any sort of challenge.  Since that day, the SCOTUS has re-written laws, and interpreted the US constitution like a date rapist sees signs that the victim wanted it, I mean after all, if Santa Clara County didn't want to be fucked by the Southern Pacific Railroad, then they shouldn't have treated it like it was a person...right?

You may think that judicial review has also been a useful tool to the oppressed, and you would be right.  Cases like Brown V. the Board of Education was a huge victory in the civil rights movement.  Miranda V. Arizona provides for protection against police, and makes for badass banter between good guys and bad guys in our favorite buddy cop films, "you have the right to remain...dead."  Roe V. Wade afforded women the protection of their bodies, although it seems that the court is doing something it rarely does here in the Hobby Lobby case, reverse itself...to a degree.  These are all great landmark decisions, but nothing that could not have been achieved through legislation. See the civil rights act of 1965 for example.  It is not, nor has it ever been the job of the high court to have any sort of say in the writing or even interpretation of the laws.  Their job is to be the final stop in the appellate process in judging whether or not a law has been broken.  Their check on the other two branches is to find them guilty if they break the laws that government is tasked with writing and executing.  That's it.

So while judicial review can be a catalyst for social justice, the fact that most of the time it enables oligarchs to rob more, oppress more, and monopolize the majority of wealth, makes the process devoid of any merits it may eek out of its judicial pooper.  Let's stop arguing over table scraps, and start demanding a real seat at the table.

Rebelion For Sale; The High Price of Sticking it to the Man

     Once upon a time I was a production assistant.  One of my first gigs as such was on a music video for a rock band called Rise Against.  They were, and possibly still are, considered a contemporary punk band, a nice way of saying over produced, demo study drenched, MTV creation.  My description of them may be considered unfair by some, but fuck those people. 

     I was hired as an "intern", or slave if you believe in the whole truth thing.  My task on this shoot was to cast extras in the music video, coordinate their call times/report details, and wrangle them on set.  The night before I was slaving, I mean interning, at the band's show whilst they played a packed Metro on Chicago's north side.  The producers told me to seek out very "punkish" looking Rise Against fans and convince them to be in the video shoot taking place over the next 48hrs in the city.  The pay; you get to be in the video!  With your favorite band!  That's cool right?!  Maybe after the shoot you can lick their balls and take their kids to the zoo!  So like a good exploitable drone, I did just that.  I collected about 100 names and numbers from fans who looked like they fit the hot topic demo MTV or whatever shit head record label was going for.  The next morning I spent hours racking up a huge cell phone bill reaching out to all these starry eyed rebels so that they can get their chance to work for free!  The first location was the brown line train that circled the loop.  1171 productions was the gracious host of this event, and while they could have paid the standard day rate per extra, which in today's dollars starts around $75 for 8 hours of work, but they decided that just being around the "band" was worth sooooo much more.  They also would be generously providing cold chicken fingers and chips, along with all the room temperature water these kids could stuff down their faces. 

     So me and my band of pop culture clothing models/slaves/interns/set dressing with ears, boarded the brown line for the evening's work.  As I suspected, all the kids had a blast "rocking out" with one of their favorite bands as the song "Give it All" blared over the PA system and Rise Against lip synced like the anti-establishment cherubs they are.  They had a blast...for about an hour.  Soon there after the fatigue set in, the el car reeked of b.o., and faces got punched.  Time is money on a film set, so bathroom breaks for the slaves were not on the schedule.  Soon, those with, and without a penis were forced to piss in water bottles, bottles that had no where to be discarded but at their feet.  Like good unsullied soldiers, the punker kids still gave all their energy, moshing and pogo-ing over and over again to the same three cord shit-bomb of a processed "punk" song.  Then suddenly, the first actual punk thing happened that evening.  As I am standing by the doors of our el car, two female punk extras decide they had slaved long enough.  Now keep in mind, part of my pitch the night before was not only "you get to hang out with the band", but also, "you get to be on MTV".  I stopped the two women and asked why they were leaving.  Their reply was something to the effect of, "this is terrible, you can't treat people like this, it's too dangerous."  Ah, but lil ol' wanting to get ahead me tried like a good servant to get them to stay, and that is when I said one of the most embarrassing things I have ever said in my life, "Don't you wanna be on MTV?"  The response was amazing, "Fuck MTV".

     Over ten years later, and it is just dawning on me now, these women saw what the rest of us were to blind to see.  Exploitation had finally reached its greasy tentacles into every facet of life.  What was so evil and crafty about this revelation was that the modern bourgeois had developed one of their sleaziest tactics to date; inverse exploitation.  Instead of leveraging needs like food, shelter, and necessities to exist over the heads of the unwashed masses hence forcing them into servitude, they were able to get folks to jump at the chance to be used.

The video was chalked full of anti-establishment memes and visuals.  Punker kids rampaged the city, posting fuck Bush stickers and vandalizing corporate imagery.  I watch the video now and it makes me sick.  Mostly because I am aware of how the video was made, but also the veiled hypocrisy it transcends.  I picture a room full of greedy shit heads laughing their asses off every time they review the profit margin their product gleans.  That product being "counter culture".  It's very disturbing to know that this generation is being duped, just like the previous one, into becoming another cog in the consume/debt/slave culture.  And that is the true counter culture; an inverse corporate totalitarianism to which people are unwittingly active in their own oppression.

So go on and buy the spiked bracelet, download the song about hating your parents, slather the hair dye into your head until the chemicals seep into your brain.  But as you do it, realize something;  you're the problem.  You have voluntarily turned yourself into the chattel that these leaches feed off of, the only thing now is, they profit from being the bad guys.

The Riddle of Money; A Caveman's Lesson

     I am confused by the concept of money.  Not so much in that I don't understand how it works, because I don't, and that seems to be the only way such a convention can be viable.  I am more so confused by the fact that such an enigmatic system is still relevant in modern society.  Most folks have little to no grasp on how the theory of money works, which is how it has been able to sustain itself and become a larger and larger detriment to those who don't know the riddle of money.  The best way I can paint the Dalian abstraction of such a convention (Ha!  Dali puns) is to bring you on a metaphorical journey back in time.  A much simpler time when people wiped their assholes with giant leaves (or not at all), and being eaten was a legit concern.

     Imagine if you will, a pre-historic cave community.  Members of this stone age commune go about their lives much as you would picture it.  They hunt and gather, protect each other from predators, and even barter with each other from time to time.  One particular individual, Glorg, has a great skill set when it comes to game hunting.  He not only is a very efficient hunter, but also extremely skilled in the craft of making animal pelts.  These pelts are immensely useful to Glorg and his family.  They keep them warm in the winter, make for an aesthetically pleasing wardrobe, and are much easier on the skin when removing un-wanted bodily fluids. Glorg has a neighbor, his name is Glerg (Names are in the infantile stage of development).  Glerg and his family are surviving just barley due to his limited caveman skills.  He has taken notice of Glorg's fine pelts and what a boon they are to his family, especially how much hotter Glorg's wife looks in her fur bikini.  Now Glerg has nothing to barter with his neighbor for those pelts, but fears he and his family may not make it through another cold winter without them.  So Glerg devises a rather clever plan;

Glerg:  Hey Glorg!  That new batch of pelts is looking great!

Glorg:  Thanks man!  I had an awesome hunt last week!

Glerg: Yeah yeah, that's cool.  Hey listen, you think I can get my hands on a couple of thems.

Glorg:  Jeez, I'm not sure pal.  I wanna help you out, but winter is just around the corner and I'm not sure if I can part with any.  Do you have something to trade?

Glerg:  I sure do!

Glerg reaches into his cave and pulls a crude animal skin filled with jagged and filthy rocks.

Glorg:  Oh man, um, I don't think I need a bunch of rocks Glerg. 

Glerg:  What are you talking about?

Glorg:  Well, I mean, even if I did, I can get those anywhere for free.  Shit, there's more rocks like that strewn about my feet.

Glerg:  Not like these rocks.

Glorg:  How so?

Glerg:  These rocks right here represent something much more valuable.

Glorg:  Really?  What?

Glerg points to a small pile of very smooth and shiny rocks at the foot of his cave.  Glorg is confused (naturally).

Glerg:  These rocks are good for trading in for the prettier ones you see stacked up by my cave.

Glorg:  Those are nice.

Glerg:  So will you trade me for some pelts?

Glorg:  You mean the shiny rocks?

Glerg: No, silly, these

Glerg lifts the bag of shitty rocks up so Glorg understands what he means.

Glorg:  Why don't you just trade me some shiny rocks for some pelts?

Glerg:  Glad ya asked.  You see, the rocks I hold in my bag here are good for the shiny ones, which means you can trade them in anytime you want the shiny rocks.  Or, or, you can trade the shitty rocks for something else you may desire.  It's great because if gives you the freedom of choice.

Glorg:  (still confused)  So if I want the shiny rocks I can just give you the shitty rocks for them?  That seems kinda goofey.  Again, why not just trade me the shiny rocks, you have the same amount of shitty rocks.

Glerg:  Ah, see that's the beauty of it.  This pile of shitty rocks I hold in my hand is no where near the value of shiny rocks I have.

Glorg:  Wait, what?

Glerg:  Yeah, there is no way in caveman hell I'd let you trade in this pile of dog-shit rocks for my entire pile of shiny rocks!  What am I?  An idiot?

Glorg:  So why would I want to trade you for a pile of something I can't use?

Glerg:  Of course you can use them!   You can have a portion of shiny rocks whenever you want!  Or you can trade with, oh say Glarg down the way for some of his bone necklaces.  The point is, you get to choose, and choosing is freedom!

Glorg:  I guess I see the benefit in that...

Glerg:  Of course there's a benefit!  A fantastic one you'd have to be a moron to pass up.  I could give you a few shiny rocks, and that would be that.  But if I give you the shitty ones, not only will you get more, you can trade them for other things!  Do I have to spell it out in Mammoth feces for you?

Glorg:  I dunno, wouldn't the shitty rocks lose value the more I trade them?

Glerg:  Good point, easy fix.  I'll gather more shitty and shiny rocks the more you and the others trade them.

Glorg:  Yeah, but the shiny rocks are way more scarce, what happens if you can't find anymore shiny rocks?

Glerg:  Then we can trade shitty rocks on credit until we find more shiny rocks!  Duh!

Glorg:  What if that never happens?

Glerg:  These rocks are shiny!!  Look how shiny!!  You can get all kinds of cool stuff with them!  How is this confusing to you?!  You're acting like a Neander!

Glorg:  Hey!  That's not cool to throw slurs like that around bro!  I have few, and the word is Neanderthal, friends!

Glerg:  Yeah?  And how's it going for them?

Glorg:  They are slowly starving and being run out of their land by cavemen.

Glerg:  So you wanna end up like a dirty Neander...sorry, NEEANDERTHAL?!

Glorg: No.

Glerg:  So make the trade!  The reason they're about to go extinct is because they are too stupid to understand complex concepts like mine!!

Glorg:  I guess you're right.

Glerg:  Damn right I am!

Glorg and Glerg made their trade.  Glerg and his family went on to survive the winter staying warm and spiffy looking.  Meanwhile, Glorg took his pile of shitty rocks and was indeed able to convince other cavemen to trade them for goods and services.  Eventually the cave folk of Glorg and Glerg's commune decided it would be easier to spend time gathering rocks to trade.  Soon hunting and gathering skills deteriorated as the entire population of that community focused all their energy in creating complex shit rock derivatives, ponzy schemes, and a short lived rock trading futures market.  A few years latter Glorg found himself alone by a river bank up to his elbows in a pile of jagged shit rocks crying over his dead family who had starved from lack of food.  He choked on his own tears and a large chunk of sediment as he had reflected on the poor choice he made.

What's the moral of this story?  It's simple; don't believe the hype. - Chuck D

I Just Bought My First Politician: Make A Difference America!

I bought my first congressman today!!  I'm so excited!  Now, it's my first one keep in mind, so I had to go small.  It's a boy, I don't have the dollars to afford one at the federal or state level, but I was able to get one at the municipal level!!  He's a rescue actually! (Since he was censured from the board of Elgin trustees for having inappropriate relations with blue gill in the Lord's Park pond)  Here he is!

 

He's soooooo adorable!  His name is Larry Papellman, and he's all mine!

I was a bit nervous, being that I'm a first time politician owner.  I was not sure where to start!  The possibilities are endless!

Larry is crashing at my place, well my parents place since I live with them, after his wife changed the locks on him post the whole blue gill thing.  It's pretty amazing that happened, because it's how I was able to get him!  I think fate has a funny way calling on you when you are needed most.  It's a two way love, because I needed Larry to come into my life as much as he needed me!

Larry is the head of the water filtration committee, so maybe there is a good place.  I've been trying to find a way to get my human manure business going, and Larry is the perfect man to help!

The trouble with selling human feces lies mostly in harvesting it.  Like Larry, I have had a few scraps with Johnny Law whilst trying to extract this commodity.  But now with Larry in my pocket (or air mattress), I can use his influence to glean an unlimited supply without the burden of people freaking out when I go straight to the source.  Sure, the product won't be as fresh, but that is the cost of business!

I have lobbied my guy to introduce a statute that allows my LLC, and only my LLC, exclusive rights to the gold flowing through the filtration plant!  Larry was more than happy to oblige.  In his cute fashion he responded to my demand as such;

"Sure, sure kid, whatever!  You got anymore of that sniff?"

Not till you finish dinner Larry!  You little scamp!

On top of helping me with my business, Larry is also helping me find a good woman too!  What a blessing he is!  Larry said to me he knows all the "good spots", so I'm super excited!

I hope our story will bring hope to regular good people.  I want working class Americans like myself to take solace when they hear about us, knowing that they too can participate in the democratic process.

So stop whining America!  Get out there and do something to make a difference, just like Larry and I!  The American dream is not just for the rich, but rather anyone who has the temerity to pull themselves up by their boot straps and get involved.  I implore you to do like I did, get yourself a politician and stop crying that there is not one out there for you!  There are plenty of unwanted law makers and civil servants that need a good home!  We can't all have a purebred beltway legislator, but so what?  That is exactly the attitude that has destroyed the middle class, and left hundreds of small politicians like Larry without a good sponsor!

More to come!

America: A World So Nice, We Have Three

Last Thursday there was a strike across one hundred cities in the US.  Workers are fighting for a decent living wage.  I wish I had the balls to join them, but just like those workers, I am inundated with frivolous things like car payments, insurance premiums, and the need to eat.  So unlike my sisters and brothers fighting the good fight, I will not forego my few shitty hours of work on Thursday.  This really pisses me off, because it is an awful reflection of how weak willed I am as a person.  The money I'll make on this Thursday's shift of slinging cheeseburgers, beer, and sadness will not even cover my car insurance payment.  So what do I have to lose?  Unfortunately, I am in the majority of Americans who have been conditioned to keep their head down and go to work, and be happy there is work available.  I'm scared that if I walk out of my job, I'll lose it.  I'm such a big pussy, that I am even afraid to call in sick, and at least go show support for the humans who possess the power of bravery and fortitude.  People like me are the problem.

Once upon a time in this country a person could work forty hours at a job and make enough money to get on with a reasonable margin of comfort.  We called those folks the middle class.  The not so epic tale of how that class was destroyed is pretty common, whether people want to believe it or not.  As much as we can learn from history however, there first must be a change in the status quo before we can apply those lessons.

To do this, the under-paid proletariat in America MUST UNITE!  So why are there so many chicken shits like me running around?  I think I know.

The problem with wages, in a nutshell, is that they have not risen in correlation to profits  (I suspect workers may be paid in nutshells soon enough).  Not because businesses would go under, or productivity would decline, but rather because of a thirty year brainwashing campaign.

This has been a three pronged attack.  We are a third world country in the sense that not only do most Americans skim the poverty line, but also in that three illusion worlds have been created by the modern bourgeoisie to frighten us into servitude.  The first meme is such:

YOU HAVE AN EASY JOB!

Since America has made the shift to a service economy, most jobs available in this country can be done with little to no training or experience.  Basically anyone with a pulse and a moderate knowledge of the English language can negotiate their way through a day of ringing up goods, slopping hormone laced meat in front of a customer, or sell cable scripts in a broken mono-tone voice over the phone.  The evil geniuses behind this shift have done a great job equating simple with easy. By establishing this modality in the brain meat of all Americans, corporate totalitarianism is made simple.  We are the single best weapon against ourselves. 

Like any good sociopath, the wealth owners play on our insecurities.  Not only do they make the idea of paying living wages to a Wal-Mart employee sound unreasonable, they make the worker feel ashamed to even entertain such a thought.  When in reality, companies like Wal-Mart make enough profits to pay decent wages without raising prices and still collect record profits. So why do we go along with this? 

Like any abusive husband, the modern bourgeoisie reminds us day in and day out that we are lucky to have them in our lives.  Like the great Randian Atlas, they can shrug and take their party to a private island at any time.  The only reason they even bother anymore is that we still have a pretty nice rack, and cook a competent meat loaf.

Why should the Walton family pay someone $15/hr to basically stand around all day?

I would answer that hypothetical, but often asked question, with one of my own;

"What is the longest amount of time you have ever spent on your feet?"

If you are a Walton, or any other family of dynastic wealth, I bet the amount is staggeringly low.  Perhaps a few outliers like not being able to blow a load after a coke fueled night of sex clubbing in Bankok with under-age prostitutes may skew the mean some.  But that pre-supposes that our subject was standing for their service.

All in all, I bet our job creator over-lords spend very little time on their feet.  It's not as easy as it looks!  If it were, the hemroid pillow business would cease to exist.

Also remember, many of these service jobs are simplistic in operation, but physically grueling in execution.  Often times, employees are asked to do way more than the job parameters would suggest.  I've spent many working hours scrubbing toilets, grime, and filth from crevasses in the structures I was employed at, and my job title more times than not was server (waiter for you old folks).

Another huge factor over looked by those who scoff at the idea that customer service is challenging is THE HUMAN CONDITION.


The toughest thing about being a servant (because that is what we are), is the natural tendency for people to treat us like we are lower on the food chain.  In this society, the disparity between the strata of the "class" system, so called class system based on wealth accumulation, is so vast.  People will cling to any opportunity to jump up a level, even if only for that moment when whistling at the server like a dog, condescending to the cashier, or out right berating the poor soul who made a small mistake in processing their egg-muffin order.  The ironic thing (I guess) is the perpetrators of this cruelty tend to be made up mostly of those who work in the same industry.


In this inverted corporate totalitarianism known as the service industry, we the workers are our own worst enemy in the perpetuation of this "expendable/lower class" meme.


2. YOU TOO CAN BE AN OWNER:  The perversion of the American Dream

 
What is the American dream?  The answer is very objective.  However, in this day and age, it seems that the answer is rather objectivist.  Ayn Rand, the serial killer worshiping, pool boy fucking, goddess of sociopathic individualism, is really starting to peak three decades after her death.  Her philosophy lives on, and is considered by many as a viable system to which a society should function.  Followers of Rand would have you believe that her philosophy, objectivism, is a complex system of values based on total freedom.  Really it's just a bullshit excuse to be selfish.  It's aristocracy veiled in anarchy.   Basically, Rand believes that it is immoral for and institution, government, or person to hinder individual growth. Here is the problem, in order for there to be freedom of commerce and unfettered ownership, there first must be the ability to amass the wealth needed to do so.


If one works seventy hours a week in multiple occupations, how can that person find time to start a business?  How can one become the wealth owner/business owner when a handful of families own everything?


The simple truth is this;  all industries in this country are monopolized, and most of us, no matter how hard we work and try will never be the "job creator" (although I posit that workers are the real job creators).  That said, this myth that everyone has the opportunity to live the so called American dream is a fallacy. 


Education is far too expensive, and for those not born into wealth, more of a hindrance than a commodity after graduation due to immense amount of debt.


Also, college isn't for everyone.  That doesn't mean that an individual who is willing to work hard should be a slave to a seventy hour work week and merely scrape by.


What good is the American dream if it stifles most Americans?


It might be time to rehabilitate what we as a populace see as the true American dream.  Perhaps a life, liberty, pursuit of happiness type thing.  It seems the definition of happiness has been narrowed to the accumulation of wealth, money, and power.  How about the good life?  One to which hard work affords us the ability to support our loved ones, prepare for our waning years, and have some time to enjoy all the wonders this Earth has to offer....other than slinging wings and cheap lead riddled goods.


Again, we are our own worst enemy.  We have been brainwashed into thinking that if we diminish the wealth of the dynastic families that run this country, we too will lose that dangling carrot of wealth one day too.   We are standing guard in front of a mansion we will never own, and we have better things to do with our time.

3.  Raising wages, Taxing, and Regulating "Job Creators" Will Hurt Working Class Americans

Marx wrote about three wars in his critique on capitalism. The first between the ownership class (competition), the second between workers and owners, and third the war within the working class amongst themselves. The first, not nearly as harmful to owners, as the third is to the workers. Owners have tossed this bullshit piece of red meat into the working class fray, and it is; "Living wages will only hurt the general populace of working class citizens. It will destroy jobs, and prices will go up." But the more and more the disparity of wealth widens between owners and workers, the more we see that the aforementioned meme is a load of crap. There is absolutely no reason wages should have remained stagnant over the last three decades, and the very debate we are having now is why they do.

You know who else "created jobs"? Slave owners.  Now I don't liken working at Wal-Mart to slavery...there is not as much prestige.


All in all, I think it's fair to say that we have been brainwashed by the modern bourgeoisie into buying into THEIR DREAM.  We perpetuate it every time our little peckers shrink up at the threat of them packing up shop, a threat they would never make good on.  What would they do without us?  Eat each other? 

It's time to stop believing this over hyped, pseudo libertarian, so called free market bullshit they shove down our throats. 

I'm I against wealth redistribution?  Only if it is so one sided that the majority of people live paycheck to paycheck.  So let's stop this thirty year redistribution, and claim our deserved ownership of the country we built.