The Rancid Resurrection of Hubert Humphrey

I really can’t bring myself to give a shit about vidya games. All I do is play Civ 5 and the occasional RTS game anyway. Xbox one, PS4, Wii U, none of them will release anything I like that beats the PC version anyway. 

An odd night involving confrontations with tweakers and the disposal of stolen property. 

Parents, your honor student children are up to some weird shit when the sun goes down. 

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Overcome by love, sentimental feelings, alliegence, pride, loyalty, defiance. joy and pureness of heart. 

All of the emotions I repressed by necessity during the 12 hour workdays of the last year.

The overwhelming elation of once again being human! It gives my heart ease. 

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The Home Front

Mom’s tears are falling onto an official looking letter, stamped with the Bank of America logo. It’s a sight that’s all too familiar at a time like this. 

All the beige envelops attached to our door knob, every time she sobs a little bit. She worries she’s going to lose her home. My heart sinks somewhere in the area of my stomach every time I come home from my classes or take a walk back home to cook myself some lunch on lunch break at work. 

This house is our own little time bomb. From the chilly fall days walking home from school, humming sweet folk ballads to myself to the warm summer days running in and out the door in a constant race to get ahead, I knew that it wasn’t really ours. Hell it was never really ours. It was owned by Countrywide, Bank of America and probably a hedge fund or two. 

It’s so odd to think sleeping peacefully in my bed these days is an act of rebellion. Our 1000 sq ft bungalow, squeezed among immigrants with hearts of gold and working class folks with hands of steel has suddenly become my own personal battleground. 

She’s still sobbing, I can hear her through those paper thin walls. She just wants dad to come back home and take care of everything, she wants him to call the bank and convince them to refinance. I would do it but I’m too busy drafting my battle plan in my head, and if that fails, my plan for a retreat. 1000 sq ft hasn’t been valuable enough to die for since the Great War. 

Our mistake was daring to believe in the American Dream. Our mistake was to think that a man on the shop floor and his wife in the office could ever own their own humble plot of land. 

Eventually we will go our separate ways. The old retirees will probably move off to the valley and repeat the cycle. I’ll move off to the east coast and make just enough to send those back on the home front some money every month and my little brother will make it on his own if god wills it in this same old town of terrible memories. 

With a bit of luck, we might just make it. But we will have to fight for every foot of ground that was taken for granted in the past. I will have to give up my dreams to win the most important battle. 

Who has the time to change the world during a war effort like this?

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The police were actually fairly civil and kind to us demonstrators.

It was the elites headed into the luncheon that treated us with incredible disrespect and outright aggression. The cops arent happy to see everyone bear the brunt of austerity. Its the elites who shouted and screamed at us who couldnt care less about our well being.

Case in point, a popular phrase among those attending was “Pretty hot today huh?” followed by a snide laugh. The cops providing security however, they came out and gave us water.

Easy to see who the true enemy is here, and who the enemy of circumstance is. It gives me hope to see the cops helping us out, an entire group of PoC protesting

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dichotomization:

unsustainablecitizenarrested:

I support killers, mass murderers… They don’t creep or disgust me at all. They fascinate me very, very much. Breivik, Holmes, Eric, Dylan, Auvinen, Lane, Bundy, Pichucskin, Sayenko, Hanzha, Suprunyuck, dahmer… You name it… I understand them, I can relate to them.. In my eyes, they’re brave and smart people after all. 

(via goodbyeyoulizardscum)

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We picketed the farewell luncheon for F. King Alexander, our corrupt used car salesman of a University President today. 

We were respectful, kept our voices at a reasonable level and did not block people from entering. Yet, we were met with a mix of fear and aggression by the elites who funneled in and out of the event. Everything from shouting at us, calling us ungrateful to folks failing to acknowledge our presence despite us greeting them at the ceremony and walking away quickly with their heads down and sunglasses on. 

There is a distinct mix among the local elites of cowardice and entitlement, I got to see all of that today. 

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I am far too punk rock for this shit

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I’m not into cosplay or any of that culture but, when there’s an opportunity to dress like Kramer for a few laughs, I’ll do it!

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