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Hateweek Lives, 2010 by Trey Printer Friendly

Hate Week already? Hot damn! Time for old Uncle Sticky Pants to pull you up on his lap and tell you how the world really is. There might be a taffy in my right pocket. Just keep tugging. Go ahead and fight. It makes it more fun...

Your job is going or gone already.

Your house is underwater, and if you're still making payments, see how long you own it if you let those tax bills slide.

Your kids are being taught to hate you.

And, there's a fellow in China who can do everything you can for a nickel a day with a song in his heart and a smile on his face.

The future is our children.

Too bad our public school system graduates illiterates who can't make change, and who spend their days raiding your medicine cabinet and waiting for someone to give them their next trophy for breathing.

Our colleges are degree factories churning out unemployable english majors saddled with mountains of unpayable debt and minds full of politically correct mush. Useful idiots with drinking problems and STDs parroting the party line of self hatred and self destruction.

India makes engineers. China makes everything we need to live. The U.S. makes cry babies wailing about fairness and lawyers hustling to sue everything still moving.

Well, life ain't fair.

Mr. Rogers is dead, Marcia Brady is a junkie, and that dude from "Saved by the Bell" is homeless and making porn. And while you're out struggling to keep food on the table, your kids are at home being raised by a purple dinosaur who swears that he loves them, but never calls.

Tomorrows voters might not know shit about the founding fathers or our country's history, but at least they're used to all the metal detectors, censorship,and random body cavity searches Homeland Security is making standard for all of us.

Because friends, while you were busy watching American Idol, your right to privacy, speech, and safety have all been taken away. Your bitter spouse isn't the only person reading your email, and you can't even sing the national anthem at the Lincoln memorial without being told to shut up and fuck off.

The good times are over, and they weren't even that great. All that's left now is that long down hill slide into suck. And whatever you've managed to hold onto so far you better bury in the backyard of your crumbling bank owned shit box, cause Big Daddy Government has a swat team outside your door ready to taser you and take whatever you've got left.

Cause what Big Dadday wants, Big Daddy gets, and Big Dadday wants it all.

He's already bankrupted you and your children and your childrens' children. Now he wants whatever you might have left. And unlike those evil banks he loves to hate, what Big Daddy wants Big Daddy takes at the point of a gun.

Black is white. War is peace. Theft if generosity.

Big Daddy will take it all and give it away to his friends and pat himself on the back for being generous. He'll take it all and demand a "thank you sir" in exchange.

Cause kids, the game might not be over yet, but it's sure as hell fixed. When the music finally stops, you better believe the hairy, sweaty ass of every millionaire congressman and senator will be safely enshrined on a gold plated throne behind high walls with well stocked liquor cabinets and well armed security forces to keep the riff raff like us at bay.

This country created the founding fathers, the airplane, the assembly line, the television, the nuclear bomb. We created Abraham Lincoln, Jimmy Carter, Barack Obama, and Lady Gaga.

Spectacle has become truth. Sounds bites have become truth.

The facts of life are nasty and brutish.

Political correctness and self hatred are the hobbies of a dying culture. Nero fiddling while Rome burns.

While we look inward and cast metaphorical stones at ourselves, the barbarians at our gate are building nukes, chopping the heads of infidels, and really stoning people to death.

The strong horse wins the race. We're the horse standing at the starting gate licking our own asshole and wondering why it's wet.

Almost 10 years later the Twin Towers are still an empty hole in the ground, while a mosque goes up next door.

We can't even erect a statue dedicated to the brave men who rushed into that burning tower and died because the demographics are wrong.

The truth is, when everyone gets a trophy, true heroism must be destroyed lest everyone realise the trophies are worthless.

The truth is, to make failure seem success, true success must be destroyed.

And friends, the final truth is, beggars are easier to please.

As for me? Well, old Uncle Sticky Pants is riding out the slide in style, my graying hair wipping in the wind as I rocket down the mountain built by our forefathers on a whale skin toboggan greased up with baby seal oil. I got a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a semi-automatic in the other, a lucky non-filter screwed between my lips, and a front row seat for the death of all that matters here at The Strangelands, where we call em as we see em... warts and all.


Comments:
Entered By Ray From Austin
2010-08-13 17:51:28

You win Hate Week. I'd give you your trophy, but some kid got it for not pissing his pants in public. Well, not pissing his pants very much--they figured that was close enough to earn a trophy.


Entered By Anonymous From Unknown
2010-08-13 22:35:35

i think the assembly line may be a product of Manchester, England...


Entered By JaNonymous From D'Unknown, mon.
2010-08-19 03:56:12

Across the Atlantic Sea?


Entered By Diane From NH
2010-08-23 00:45:47

Damn. That's the most cynical, depressing state of the union address I've ever heard.


Entered By Tracie From Unknown
2011-04-03 03:08:01

Brutal, honest, and a bottle o' whiskey in your favor! Keep em comin'



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