Fortunate Son

My grandfather on my fathers side was a nasty little Italian immigrant. He would get drunk and beat my father with a garden hose. He would beat him with a golf club. He wasn't a nice man. He had come to America at the age of 3 as an orphan. I don't know the story behind that. Did the shipping lines use orphans for ballast? Despite being a mean prick he started his own business, raised a mess of kids, owned his own home, and thrived in a place where everyone was supposed to have an equal chance. The kind of chance he would have never had if he had stayed in Italy. He used to say to my father "If your hair's combed and your shoes are shined your as good as anyone."

You have to love that attitude. We're all Bozos on this bus. Up yours Hitler.

Now in 2 days the British are going to have a big wing ding about the right to be born better than someone else. Mmmm better! Kings and Queens are just so...so... shouldn't we be dragging those bastards to a guillotine ? The British can go screw, but it is their country and their prerogative so I hope they enjoy the damn wedding. That doesn't mean you should give one breathless second of your precious time to watching that crap on television.

Why it's just like a fairy tale... and they lived happily ever...oops!

There is of coarse a ruling class in this country too. Kennedy's, Bushes, Gores, Rockerfellas are our own version of royalty. They win election after election because they are Kennedy's, Bushes, Gores, Rockerfellas. Why do we allow it? Aren't your shoes shined? Isn't your hair combed? Why don't we believe our own mythos? It's been a long hard slog for "every man", with hard earned rights evaporating around us even as I type these words. Meanwhile our own royals and their acolytes are howling for even bigger cuts or conceding our future to those that do. Are you really going to watch the royal wedding?

At 4AM on friday morning millions of our countrymen are going to waste their hard earned time for sleeping watching 2 winners of the luck sperm contest rub our noses in their privilege. Breathless style reporters, embracing their slave morality, will call it like a baseball game and sell it like the holy grail of love. A nation of fools with messy hair and scuffed up shoes will lap it up before returning to their daily lives. All wishing that it could have been them on the screen when they should be out buying a comb and some shoe polish.

Not Me.