No, really -- do you have your own private island with your one private mansion on it and your own jet to fly there? Do you have enough bux put back that you're richer than the smallest countries?
Well, then, you're part of this-here semi-mythical pseudoamphictiony of "the 99%." Yeah, that would be you, me, J. Neric Angry Student, the homeless wino over there on the park bench, the manager of your local grocery store, the gal who owns the fast food joint and the manager of the local manufacturing plant -- also, the guy who mucks out the toilets in that plant. Probably everyone you can see from the top of your dwelling, too. I'm sure we've all got a lot of things to talk about that the family with the private island couldn't possibly understand or relate to.
We're also part of the 99% who aren't Mexican/French contortionists with a Ph.D. in cosmology; the 99% who aren't successful herbal cosmetologists, the 99% who have never won big in Vegas or Atlantic City, the 99.999% who have never been in space....
99% is a darned big bag.
I wonder what happens after the supposed Speakers For The 99% are finished bathing in the blood of the 1% -- and how long it will take them to work their way down to me. That's not the same as being on of the 1%, no more than my home library or the one at your church is the same as an adult bookstore; but once you start burning books or "the rich," where does it stop?
It's better not to start.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago