Anonymous Liberal

GOING UNDERCOVER

2006-02-04T10:57:00.000-08:00

A funny thing happened recently when I signed up for comment posting privileges Daily Kos, the left-wing nutcase blog, and began posting comments. My first post was around Christmas, when I commented that people should go to a "progressive" church and wrote "God bless you." Someone commented on my comment, saying only "Who is this guy?" Apparently they were surprised that someone would have a positive interest in religion and visit that website.

My second post was more nefarious. I commented on one of the "fighting Dem" stories, which feature liberal veterans running for office. I noted (consistent with liberal values, I might add) that people who have served in the military should not hold public office. After all, anyone who would willingly go slaughter innocents, kick in doors in the middle of the night, and sexually assault random females in Iraq (like all the other troops) is not particularly "progressive," and therefore should not play a role in the Democrat party. The regulars were not pleased. The first response said "Do you want us to lose?" (Never mind that the principle that veterans shouldn't serve in government is totally abhorrent.) Other posts followed, basically calling me an out of touch "revolutionary" (which is now apparently passe). I responded that Adolf Hitler served in the military before holding public office (he was also a vegetarian, by the way), and that this proves the point that you can't trust military hawks in positions of power. After that, the other posters flagged my comment for the "parent," who thereafter prevented me from posting and erased all my previous posts.

I acted as an honest liberal, and now I'm banned from Daily Kos for life. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

Operation Nuremberg a Success

2005-09-10T14:54:00.000-07:00

The corporate paradigm was thwarted today after Operation Nuremberg went off without a hitch. That isn't to say that I came away unscathed. To pull off the mission, I had to get uncomfortably close to the eye of the neocon storm. Here is an outline of the past 24 hours and the mission accomplished:

September 9, 2005

9:12 p.m.: Lenin (code name) finally arrives to our graduate student discussion group. He was at least one-half hour late. The topic was "Bread and Circuses of the Conservative/Corporate Power Structure," which happened to be Lenin's thesis topic, making his lateness all the less excusable.

9:18 p.m.: Lenin and Nader (code name) began arguing about the differences between Trotskyism and Leninism. I attempted to explain that none of this matters so long as the neocons are in power. They agreed.

9:19 p.m.: Lenin begins what must have been a 2 hour talk about Bread and Circuses, which was largely amusing, but became dry after he made the same point about 20 times. Through his verbosity, Lenin made relevant comparisons between NFL games and the Nuremberg Rally in Nazi Germany, which gave me an idea.

11:30 p.m.: I proposed that we take direct action against the racist assault by Bushco in New Orleans by making a display of dissent at a college football game scheduled for play the following day on campus. After bandying about different ideas (still classified), we settled on one in particular that had been successfully used by the ELF a few years back.

11:37 p.m.: We voted unanimously to display a banner with the slogan "Bush Hates African-Americans" at the neocon football game the following day. Peferably, the banner was to be shown on national television to millions of mind-numbed corporate drones. With any luck, these same people would wake up and see the cave they live their lives in.

11:41 p.m.: We began planning logistics, finally deciding that we would paint "Bush Hates African-Americans" in red on a white blanket, cut the blanket into three parts, and then each separately carry in a part of the blanket to avoid detection by the campus gestapo.

12:01 p.m.: Against our better collective judgment, we went to SlaveMart to buy the blanket and paint, as their corporate prison was the only store open that late. The fact that SlaveMart is open so late is a testament to how it treats its workers. We expressed our condolences to the cashier, but she seemed too brainwashed to understand.

12:34 p.m.: We returned to headquarters to complete our sign, drank a few Sierra Nevadas, and then went to sleep.

September 10, 2005

8:20 a.m.: Lenin's alarm clock goes off, playing hideous corporate music that sounded an awful lot like Britney Spears. Nader and I teased him relentlessly for listening to corporate radio. Nader then changed the station to the listener-sponsored, labor-friendly station in town. By mere coincidence, they were discussing university sponsorship of slave labor via the purchase of NCAA clothing from sweatshops, a topic I feel very passionately about.

8:33 a.m.: After listening for about 10 minutes, I realized that we didn't have any tickets for the game. Further discussion revealed that we also lacked the appropriate sweatshop-made clothing to avoid detection by the campus gestapo. Although I acquiesced to buying goods at SlaveMart the night before, there was no way I would buy sweatshop clothing bearing the college name. Lenin proposed that we check out a local thrift shop for used sweatshop clothes, which he said would be closer to recycling than victimizing slave labor. We collectively agreed that this option was the best one.

10:02 a.m.: The thrift shop finally opens. We quickly found t-shirts bearing the campus animal slogan. I pointed out how interesting it was that the only time the neocon humanizes animals is when he uses them for fighting purposes. The t-shirts we ended up buying celebrated the team's victory in a "bowl" game a few years before. I wondered out loud how many of the team's African-American players actually graduated, despite their few moments of glory.

11:15 a.m.: We arrived on campus for the game, only to find out that it had already begun 15 minutes earlier. The reason for the early start, we surmised, was to prevent the violent neanderthals from getting as drunk as they normally would, which in turn would prevent more date rapes and battery incidents. Unfortunately, the game was also sold out, so we had to purchase tickets for "good seats" from a scalper for $50 a piece. At this point, the mission was becoming very expensive.

11:31 a.m.: We entered the stadium and proceeded to our seats, which were nowhere near the field, as the scalper, in a fit of profit-mania, had insisted. Instead, our seats were located in the upper grandstand. In order to pull off our mission, we would have to get closer to the field.

11:47 a.m.: We walked down near the field and stood together near one of the goalposts. We hoped that one of the teams (we didn't care which one) would score and that we could show our sign to millions while standing near the fence. Unfortunately, one of the gestapo saw us standing there too long, and he demanded our papers (ticket stubs). He then demanded that we leave, to preserve the "property rights" of other ticket holders. At that point, we tried the same thing on the other side, with the same result.

12:34 p.m.: Thwarted by the gestapo, we collectively decided to take our message directly to the players themselves. We walked up to the home team's sidelines and unfurled our blankets while standing together to make the completed sign. As previously decided, we repeatedly shouted "Bush is Racist!" in unison. After speaking the truth about 10 times, the campus gestapo approached and demanded that we leave the stadium. I attempted to explain that we have a First Amendment right to make political speeches and organize collectively.

12:36 p.m.: In a clear violation of our rights, the gestapo physically escorted us outside the stadium. They told us that if we attempted to go inside again they would arrest us for disorderly conduct. I tried to go back inside, but Nader and Lenin held me back. In any event, the mission had already been successful enough, and not without considerable expense.

1:44 p.m.: We held a debriefing at a locally-owned pancake house. We collectively agreed that the mission had been successful, surely resulting in several players abandoning their support for Bushco. Without a doubt, if the players leave their slavemasters in the neocon structure, a major part of the neocon agenda will be crushed. We agreed to continue monitoring the players' behavior in the future to determine our overall impact.

Final Comments

As you can see, change begins with a few solitary voices that collectivize into a force for change. I urge all of my readers to participate in similar truth teachings in the future. After all, you can't stop the power of the people, because the power of the people don't stop!

A Voice in the Wilderness

2005-09-08T17:16:00.000-07:00

I had another good day ruined this morning when I heard yet another blowhard neocon ranting and raving about the need for "personal responsibility" during the Katrina hurricane. I was sitting at the lunch counter of my favorite mom-and-pop restaurant, when I heard the neocon start spouting off to the waitperson about the victims of Katrina. I should have moved, but for some unexplained reason--maybe it's Stockholm Syndrome--I was glued to my seat.

Basically, the neocon was trying to deny Bushco's responsibility for causing the Katrina hurricane and its aftermath by engaging in the classic blame the victim game. He argued that the poor minorities in New Orleans got what they deserved because they refused to leave their houses even though a mandatory evacuation order was in effect. As he continued, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and my breath became labored. The waitperson apparently noticed my distress, as she asked whether I needed some water or a napkin.

I told her, while practically screaming, "No. What I need is for people to start taking responsibility, and that starts with George W. Bush." I did my best not to look at the neocon, who I could feel staring bullets at me. To escape his hate-filled gaze, I ran into the bathroom and locked the stall door. Eventually, I got up my nerve and decided to tell the neocon off.

When I came out of the bathroom about 10 minutes later, the neocon had already retreated from the restaurant. I guess he was too afraid to hear the truth!

A Symbol of Hegemonic Disgrace

2005-09-07T13:26:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, I made the mistake of not going to the natural foods cooperative in my town and instead decided to patronize the large supermarket closer to my house. Even though they sell genetically modified produce and hormone-laced meats, I figured that there would still be some food that I could eat without vomiting or growing extra body hair afterwards. Besides, the supermarket is much closer than the coop, so I would save on gas money, which in turn could save the life of an innocent Iraqi.

When I got to the supermarket, I immediately realized that I had made a huge mistake. As I searched the asiles of mutant food products searching for something organic, I saw one thing in particular that ruined my day. As you know, neocons love supermarkets, and this store had plenty of them, with their whining, corporate-drone children in tow.

One of the neocons stuck out among the rest. This 40-something white male had a shirt with the American flag on it, which was annoying enough. Not satisfied to merely flaunt his militaristic ideology, the neocon's shirt also said, "Is there a problem with my shirt? Call 1-800-LEAVE-THE-US." How trite. If I didn't know for certain that this neanderthal would get violent with me for saying something, I would have told him the truth about his hero, George W. Bush.

But that sort of thing never works with neocons. So I did what I had to do. As soon as I got out in the parking lot, I saw a truck with a "W" sticker on it. That had to be his, so I placed a nice scratch on it, just to teach him a lesson.

Race Consciousness Emerges from Tragedy

2005-09-06T12:43:00.000-07:00

Every time I think about how George W. Bush hides behind the label of "Christianity" I start shaking with anger and screaming spontaneously. This was especially so when I saw him place himself in photo ops with African-American children during his visit to New Orleans after the Katrina disaster. In a somewhat embarrassing moment, I was in a coffee shop last night and reading my local paper when whammo, I saw a picture of Bush hugging a African-American girl. Something snapped, and I screamed at the top of my lungs "You Fucking Racist Pig! You Fucking Insensitive Fuck!"

After my brief tirade ended, I looked around and saw that all the coffee shop patrons were staring silently at me. Feeling the urge to explain, I held up the paper and pointed to the picture of Bush and said, "I don't usually act like this, but I think you'll understand when you see this!" Some of the patrons smiled at me and others just turned around. Usually, the coffee shop is as good a place as any to vent anger against our illegitimate president (Bush v. Gore), so I didn't feel bad about what I did. Sometimes we just have to let loose with our feelings.

That's why I'm so glad that Ray Nagin, the Mayor of New Orleans, spoke truth to power after the Katrina disaster. Rendered powerless by the Bush Administration's efforts to destroy the African-American cultural centers in New Orleans, Mayor Nagin did the only thing he could: He screamed obsenities at the federal government and demanded that they do something about the disaster. And what happened? They finally sent in troops and supplies. If Mayor Nagin hadn't exposed the Bush Administration's hatred for impoverished African-Americans, maybe no one would be doing anything at all!

I think that we should devote a national holiday to Ray Nagin after the Progressive Revolution quashes the Neocon terrorist assault on our liberties. That way we would be forced to remember the Katrina genocide and the heroes of the resistance on a regular basis.

A Rovarian Nightmare

2005-09-05T15:59:00.000-07:00

Last night, I had a horrible nightmare in which I was trapped in post-Katrina New Orleans, stuck on the kitchen counter of a flooded first-floor flat. I was too afraid to venture into the toxic water covering the floor, and the night sounds of gunshots and screams filled the air around me. I was dying of thirst, and in my irrational state I briefly wished that I owned a handgun, of all things, to protect myself from the poor, disenfranchised shooters outside. After careful consideration, those thoughts quickly left my head.

Throughout my ordeal, I found solace in the idea that if I were killed by someone in the chaos, I would be a martyr reflecting the Bush Administration's neglect of the poor and the environment. After all, he practically created the global warming that caused Katrina, and his chronic neglect of the poor has forced them to take up arms against their majority oppressors. No one can blame them for shooting a white person like me, given that I share a race with the most evil Americans walking the earth today.

Still, I didn't want to die on a kitchen counter, so I weighed my options and decided to wade outside into the street in front of the flat. I cautiously stepped down into the muckish water, which immediately ruined my Birkenstock sandals, which in turn had cost me eighty hard earned dollars just a few weeks before. Maybe when this is all over, I'll send the bill to Bush, I thought, before realizing that he would never give any relief money to a person like me because it's all reserved for his coporate friends and oil buddies. Too bad.

As I waded outside the door of the flat, I noticed several people gathered around the front door of a Best Buy down the street. As I approached them, I saw that they were walking out with various electronic devices. I immediately shouted "Viva La Revolution!" in celebration of the spontaneous distribution of corporate wealth going on in front of me.

The bedraggled men just looked and stared at me for a few seconds, before one approached and asked if I had any money. Even though I really had a twenty-dollar bill on me, my greed took over and I told him that I didn't have a dime. He must have sensed that I had lied, because he hit me in the face with his fist. At that point, I was immediately overcome with a sense of guilt for having lied to this poor denizen of the streets, who simply needed the money and electronics to feed his family. I gave him the twenty, but then he hit me again to finish off my lesson. Lesson learned.

Then something really unexpected happened. All of a sudden the men scattered and ran in the same direction away from the Best Buy. I looked and saw a boat approaching from the other direction, with a man holding a shotgun at the helm. My fear of firearms paralyzed me on the spot, and I stood silently as the boat came closer. Eventually, I recognized the face of the man holding the gun. It was Karl Rove. My heart skipped a beat.

I thought that he would shoot me on sight, so I closed my eyes and thought about how I had never met Ani DiFranco, which had become a life goal of mine a few weeks back. If I had to die, I would at least die with pleasant thoughts of Ani and her music swirling in my head. But he didn't shoot. Instead, he asked me if I wanted a ride to a relief station. I was flabbergasted.

Then I woke up covered in a cold sweat. If the dream were real, I would have died at Karl Rove's hands. What a nightmare!