A ginormous steaming pile of excrement proves why there can never be peace with the “52’s”

My friend Claymore sent me this morning. I may forgive him early next week, but I doubt it.

Writing this post without using VERY bad words is a chore. But, I will try.

Dear boomers: We’re sorry for rolling our eyes at you all these years. We apologize for scoffing at your earnestness, your lack of self-deprecation, your tendency to take yourselves a little too seriously. We can go ahead and admit now that we grew tired of hearing about the ’60s and the peace movement, as if you had to live through those times to understand anything at all. It’s true, we didn’t completely partake of your idealism and your notions about community. Frankly, it looked gray and saggy in your hands, these many decades later….We couldn’t help it. It’s just who we are.

Heather you ignorant slut, you don’t speak for me, or anyone I know. But let’s go further into this steaming pile of corn and peanut ensconced diatribe.

But when we watched Barack Obama’s victory speech on Tuesday night, we looked into the eyes of a real leader, and decades of cynicism about politics and grass-roots movements and community melted away in a single moment. We heard the voice of a man who can inspire with his words, who’s unashamed of his own intelligence, who’s willing to treat the citizens of this country like smart, capable people, worthy of respect. For the first time in some of our lifetimes, we believed.

“We” did? As my sainted grandfather might say, “What is this “we” shit? You got a turd in your pocket?” And some more from this whorebag:

We were raised under Ronald Reagan, smiling emptily under a shellacked cap of shiny brown hair like a demon clown, warning us (With a knowing nod! With a wink!) about those evil Russians stockpiling nuclear arms thousands of miles away.

And more:

But on Tuesday night, that changed. We understood, for the first time in our lives, what it means to be a part of something big, without reservation. We saw the joy in that. We knew that history had been made, and we were happy to have made calls and sent money and knocked on doors for this man. We felt like we were really, truly participants in history, that we had a connection to those people in the crowd at Grant Park and those kids crying and celebrating in Compton on the local news.

No more clips of this.

I joined something larger than myself on August 19, 1993. I did it again on February 22, 2004. It was the military.

Apparently what modicum of growing up this dumb bitch did, she did it Tuesday. It reminds me of when Hillary had that epiphany and decided to treat the help with more respect. No shit shirlock, most of us learn these lessons at an early age.

I was a part of someting big, without reservation. It was called Operation Enduring Freedom, and it was aptly named. I went to a country where little girls can’t go to school, and little boys need medical attention because they serve as catamites. I watched friends of mine die, and I watched as birds loaded up the coffins of my brothers. I was there the day that Afghanis got to vote for the first time ever. I watched them stand in line for hours, with the very real fear that at any moment some asshat with high explosives could send them into the afterlife. I handed out book bags to little girls who weren’t allowed books before. I helped farmers build rock walls to keep their meager herds from escaping. I drank tea with elders.

I partook in history. You partook in an election. You don’t speak for me now or ever. Now, kindly go F yourself.

Category: Politics