put your shirt back on

Republican presidential candidate Herman Cain says, "Don't blame Wall Street, don't blame the big banks, if you don't have a job and you're not rich, blame yourself!"

And that is a fucking quote.

Apparently, 99% of Americans can be wrong. Because it's our fault that we can't send our children to school because they are overcrowded and falling apart. It's our fault that we have to get a mortgage to buy a home and take out a loan to get an education that won't get us a job, anyway. It's our fault that we face down superflus and incurable diseases without the faintest hope of being able to afford health insurance. Unending wars and corrupt corporations and a total failure of our government to take the steps necessary to preserve even the most basic of human needs couldn't have anything to do with it.

You're absolutely right. Our bad.



Dear GOP,

Eat all the dicks.

Love,
The 99%


BUT!
Glenn Beck is running scared from Occupy Wall Street, which just warms the cockles of my anarchistic little heart.

Went to a vegetarian bar/restaurant/concert venue last night and had a blast.

It was, literally, a little hole-in-the-wall place with an empty back room, a couple of lights, and $2 PBR.

It was $5 for three bands, and it was a god damn bargain. The bands were the grassroots blues-inspired kind that I didn't think existed, anymore. The band members sported gauges the size of bottle-caps (empirical evidence was provided), dreads to their hips, and the occasional pair of coveralls, and accompanied themselves on washboards, saws, and banjos. One washtub player showed up in a penguin suit.

The crowd sported everything from capes and skirts to 1920s-esc gloves and heels. I saw pockets bulging with smart phones and pocket knives in equal measure. No one seemed to care what they looked like; we were all just comfortable and we were there for the music. The musicians were talented and easy-going and didn't seem to mind that there were all of thee lights in the place. They played their hearts out, we danced and clapped and stomped, and everybody had a good time.

I was absolutely delighted by the music, too. There were funeral dirges, road songs, and one rousing ballad about stealing chocolate bars.

It was, altogether, a very liberating night. I used to be the quintessential art student, complete with found clothes and questionable bathing practices, and while I have moved past that into 'white bread college kid', I definitely miss the expressive and unapologetic attitude of the arts.

And it was nice to not be the only person in the crowd with holes in the knees of my jeans, for once.

Fuck me, I'm reading Jonas Brothers bandfic.

Every time I think I've hit rock bottom, I somehow defy physics and achieve a new all-time low. My ghost-written biography is going to be hilarifying.

Also, Wretches and Kings just makes me want to throw Molotov cocktails at something. It is bad. ass.

I'm forever hearing Americans bash on the French simply because that's what we do.

Guess what, people? I'm a born and bred American with Southern roots and a chip on her shoulder, and I love the French. And you want to know why?

They are just as stubborn, prideful, and weird as we are.

They're stuck up and smug? Fuck, take a look at us. What kind of ego does a nation have to have to emblazon a billboard with the slogan, "America. Love It Or Leave It!"

They're cheese-eating surrender monkeys? Well, we're burger-eating warmongers sending our men and women to die in some godforsaken desert.

And God forbid there be a country that is just as verbal about their dislike for us as we are about them. I mean, where do they get the gall?!

God damn, people. You don't know the French, and they definitely don't know us. We are two radically different cultures and we still manage to rub each other the wrong way because pride is our way of life.

Lord knows, I am proud to be an American and plan on serving my country until the day I die. But I am still going to inform you that you are moron if you consider 'the French' to be some kind of national inside joke.

/rant