The fact that half the country thinks it's good to drive the bus off the cliff isn't relevent.
The fact that they don't think it will kill them isn't relevant.
The fact that some of them are licensed bus drivers isn't relevant.
What IS important is we mustn't let them do that.
The fact that they think that we want to destroy the bus by refusing to drive off the cliff really doesn't matter, beyond the fact that it tells us they are disconnected from basic reality.
High-end merchandise, highly technical thefts, no tracks left, no evidence created. In quick, out quick. The occasional picking of a particular prosperous pocket.
The job at the cannery keeps the authorities from sniffing out the secret job, while the secret job keeps him flush.
But his third occupation keeps him sane, sets him apart.
Occupation number three is writer
Yes, the litterateur of Loony Island, the keeper of its flame, the immortalizer of its story, air father, the artistic sheen of the word made real in the flesh of the cranium, ah! It’s occupation number three he lives for. It’s his inner glory. It’s his secret strength.
We aren't witnessing a failed coup. We are witnessing a successful coup that has momentarily lost its grip on the presidency, and which clearly intends to use extra-legal means to try to get it back, and to negate it for however long it doesn't have it.
The messaging really ought to be the truth, which is:
*We can't afford to not take care of sick people anymore.
*We can't afford to not house the houseless anymore.
*We can't afford a population crushed by debt.
*We can't afford our carceral state.
*America can't afford cruelty.
Our obsession with ignorant cruelty is not only morally empty, it's *expensive.*
The cost of student debt and medical debt, of houselessness, of incarceration as a growth industry, the loss of life, is expensive.
It's VERY expensive.
America can't afford cruelty anymore.
We are quite aware that there are people who would rather die themselves than see sick people they deem undeserving receive care, but that sort of cruel selfishness is the sort of luxury item only afforded to late-stage Roman emperors, and we can't afford that nonsense anymore.
The Love Party came west in 1787, to make their fortune in the new-formed Northwest Territory.
The “Love Party,” so named after Isaac Love. A bachelor smith and former corporal in the Colonial army, he quickly proved the most capable among them, and a natural leader besides.
The group, setting out from Raleigh, targeting Cincinnati, was made up of a loose and unaffiliated kit of families and fortune hunters, without head or government, but when the guide they hired took ill early in their trip, they found themselves in early danger of failure.
I'm this weird guy who thinks that if you remove a massive unjust crushing burden from the shoulders of millions and millions of people, there will also be a lot of joy, so who give a fuck what selfish self-defeating assholes think.
We're aware that there are those who would rather people suffering under a terrible needless construct that is wearing away at almost every aspect of our national fabric, than see one person get a single dollar they personally feel that person didn't deserve.
And fuck them.
We are going to have to solve our problems without the permission or approval of people who want those problems to exist, and their bullshit selfish reasons for wanting the problems to exist do not constitute a valid argument for having problems exist.