Dear Dirty America

DDA

The Thoroughness of a Good Whore: Buying Into What’s Left of America

October 21
16:16 2011
ADAM MICHAEL LUEBKE
Los Angeles, CaliforniaYesterday, I met a small-framed man with a red bandanna tied around his shaggy gray hair. His skin was tanned to leather. He fit the part of old hippie, and he slightly resembled Charles Manson, which is maybe why I trusted him right away.

“Hey, chief!” he said. I was on my way into Bristol Farms to get coffee. “How are you today?” I said I was fine and asked how he was. “I could use fifty cents,” he said, “or hell, I’d be happy to get a dollar.” I couldn’t resist giving him a buck. The demand wasn’t strenuous.

I pulled out one dollar and wondered if I should be giving him more. He thanked me, I walked away. Suddenly, “Hey you!” he shouted. I turned, a little concerned why he was shouting at me. Did he want another dollar? Dear Jesus, let this guy leave me alone. “Hey, thank you so much, brother,” he called. He stared into my eyes. He was thankful.

The most unworthy Americans: they NYPD’s continued brutality

I went inside, bought my coffee, browsed the fresh fruits and vegetables section, and then left. He was standing outside. Shit, I thought, here we go again. I looked him in the eyes, expecting him to ask for more. He stared at me too, and we didn’t say anything for one awkward moment. A couple other people walked by, but I was hardly paying attention. I was nervous about what he was going to say, or not say.

The old homeless hippie reached out a fist, and we bumped knuckles. His eyes intensely watched me. “Thank you,” he said again, “I love you, brother.” And that was all. I walked away feeling like I should have bought him coffee, even a meal, whatever he needed. Fuck it that I’m just a student and taking on a lot of debt. I’ve never seen anyone so sincerely grateful for one dollar. I had clean clothes, a backpack, a car. He didn’t seem to have much more than the dirty clothes he was wearing.

And that’s the issue. I keep giving out my student loan money to the homeless and destitute wandering the streets of Los Angeles. I suspect a lot of people with very little give to those with even less. We know how easily we could be them, how easily we could be out of work, out of our apartments, and on the streets. I don’t need a wild imagination to picture myself in serious financial difficulty. It’s not like there are any new jobs being created.

And who would help me if that happened? Certainly not our politicians in Washington, and certainly not our job creators who make up Wall Street. They continue to ship work overseas, complain about getting taxed too much, and then rake in a few billion dollars in profit while our nation hovers between an unemployment rate of 16-20 percent.

This country’s goddamned politicians aren’t going to help us anytime soon. The Senate continues to block Obama’s jobs plan. Even if they had wholeheartedly approved of the plan, it would add about one million jobs when we need more than thirty.

There are social safety nets, there are programs to help the sick, starving, and cold in America, but it’s not nearly enough. Take a drive through downtown L.A. some night, just after dark, and look at the endless rows of sleeping bags, tents, and blankets set up along the streets. This isn’t a serious national crisis, it’s a crippling epidemic that’s turning our society inside out.

Our goddamned politicians. I mean that in a literal way, and not in some literary way that sounds good or gives the prose a special rhythm. Most of our politicians deserve to be in Hell, if only Hell existed. Maybe that’s why they refuse to do anything in the way of serious help for their 60 million plus struggling, desperate countrymen. They don’t strongly believe in the Devil. But they should.

All of those bastards deserve the flames. Let Mitt Romney condemn the Occupy Wall Streets while in Hell. Let him give his speeches and toasts under the Lordship of Satan. Let Herman Cain slow-cook his pizzas in the natural heat of the underworld’s magnificent oven. And let Barack Obama, with Hillary at his side, kill as many “bad guys” as possible, because in Hell, he’ll be surrounded by the motherfuckers, and he’ll make them good company. He can explain to the legions of children down there why it was necessary to blow them up too, in order to make sure he got the bad guy.

Gaddafi might have tortured thousands of people, and killed tens of thousands more, and he might be getting his ass licked by the eternal flames, and he might deserve that, but let us be honest: his crimes sound an awful lot like our current president and his predecessor’s.

As if we aren’t and haven’t been torturing hundreds, if not thousands of mostly innocent people for this War on Terror. As if predator drone strikes haven’t killed over a thousand people in Pakistan alone. And those thousand are not even alleged terrorists, but families, with children. As if the U.S. government isn’t giving the Mexican mafia crates filled with big guns. Or helping al-Qaeda in Libya.

Occupy Los Angeles: storming the financial district

So let these bastards burn. They are corrupted and evil low-life political hacks that care very little for humans or liberty or life. We can’t even vote to get out of this mess in this country. A vote for Barack Obama is like a vote for George W. Bush. I can’t live with that. I don’t want my name stamped on this horror show.

The American people have been stripped of honor and prosperity. We as a nation toil in humiliation and helplessness. The only good left in this country, as far as I can tell, is reflected in the drunken innocence of the bums and winos. In the thoroughness of a good whore. In the satisfaction of a well-executed drug deal. They are the only ones who seem to see through the bullshit. They probably never bought into it in the first place.

I would stand by my friend at Bristol Farms before I ever defended Pres Obama, or his predecessor, or our Congresspeople, or this country’s most successful Wall Street job creators. At least he’s grateful for everything he has, and for everything he gets. And he knows how to show it.

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