Laugh at Liberals

This week, I learned that there’s a bond between warriors even if one fights for justice and one fights for korporations. My unprogressive dad lent me a couple of the bucks his Korporate paymasters throw at him for looking the other way while they rape the underdeveloped world, so I went to the Fitch to grab a new pair of sandals. “Well, well, well; what do we have here?” I thought upon seeing an unthinking robot in his imperial uniform, “One of Bush’s little storm troopers. I wonder if his American Taliban masters knows he shops at a store that dares to challenge Amerikan Puritanism? I saw the perfect opportunity for a consciousness jump start, “Heil Hitler,” I whispered in his ear. Well, he jumped. “Not so tough when you have to stand up to a full grown person instead of little babies, are you?” I said.   

“Whatever,” he mumbled semi-literately

I was about to whip out my Abu Ghraib pictures when I decided to reach into my bottomless well of compassion instead. “He’s probably an idiot,” I thought. “Is it really fair for me to challenge him with my consciousness-raising techniques when I have at my disposal the vast intellectual tools I’ve acquired in graduate school and he probably didn’t finish the eighth grade or possessed a borderline retarded IQ? This trained killer was probably one of the poor suckers who couldn’t read about Amerika’s true history, making him easy prey for Beeazelbush’s lies.” “You know, a just government would’ve given you a chance. You could have done something with your life instead of having to salute criminals like a monkey.” I said in my compassionate voice.

“Um, yeah,” he muttered

“Listen to those verbal skills,” I said to myself. “He probably went to an under-funded school where he had to eat dog food and ketchup. Thanks Ronnie!” Wishing to engage I said, “I feel you, brother. I too have tasted battle. Did you terrorize civilians in the middle of the night?”

“No, I worked supply.”

“So you only helped commit atrocities. During one battle, I had some bad weed and had to stay in the rear and help out the warriors. So, what did you do: cover up evidence?”

“No, I had to hand out bullets and stuff. It was right before Fallujah. Were you in the Sand Box?”

“If you mean the formerly sovereign country of Iraq, then no. I was in the globalization pre-apocalypse in Seattle 1999. We fought against greed and money.”

“Really, what did you do?”

“Well, I had a support position too. I synced the warriors’ ipods right before the great battle of Starbucks. The pigs took 4 of our best that day. Because of their immoral detention, they missed the first week of school and it totally messed up their GPA. I also sold T-shirts for a buddy. He’s now helping infiltrate Korporate Amerika with some kind of clothing Kompany. He’s still down with the cause, though. He helps provide revolution money to exploited Indonesian people.”

“Alright man, I gotta go,” he said.

And so I bade him goodbye. Maybe, besides being much smarter, more socially conscious, and less brainwashed, we’re not so different after all.

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