morning in ameriKKKA

At The March For Our Lives, we tried the peaceful protest. Nothing changed. At the candlelight vigil after Gabby Giffords was shot in the face at Safeway, we tried the peaceful protest. Nothing changed.

Occupy Wall Street.

Black Lives Matter.

Pink Pussy Hats.

Nothing. Changed.

The president says he stands with the peaceful protesters. Of course he does. They have no leverage.

The Bible says, “The meek shall inherit the earth.” It’s supposed to be a lesson in humility but if you’re a White Nationalist Psychopath, it’s an invitation to wrap the neck of democracy in the stranglehold of Electoral College Politics and grab Lady Liberty by the pussy – move on her like a bitch – she likes it.

Listen.

Do you really think Derek Chauvin would have been arrested and charged if Minneapolis wasn’t set on fire? “God gave Noah the rainbow sign. No more water. The fire next time.” That, my friend, is what you call leverage!

Now there’s all this talk in the corporate media about looting. Call it what it is: take the focus off the focus.

We’re not talking about George Floyd.

We’re not talking about racist insanity, we’re not talking about police brutality, we’re not talking about 8 minutes and 46 seconds, we’re not talking about 2 minutes and 53 seconds.

The focus has shifted.

Conveniently.

Now we’re talking about merchandise, now we’re talking about property, now we’re talking about curfews for grown-ass men and grown-ass women who, during a global pandemic, have behaved with a nobility worthy of unyielding R-E-S-P-E-C-T (find out what it means to me).

What does it tell you?

Here’s what it tells you…

Donald Trump is scared.

You don’t invoke the racist creed of George Wallace unless you’re sending a dog whistle to the lynch mob. “When The Looting Starts, The Shooting Starts.” That’s the Minneapolis equivalent of “There Are Very Fine People On Both Sides.” Bullshit, Mr. President.

There were peaceful protesters on one side and on the other side…

Killers.

At Charlottesville, we tried the peaceful protest. What did we get? We got run over by a muscle car from Hell, literally. Heather Heyer got an early grave, literally. Her mother got a broken heart, literally. On the street where Heather died, we laid down flowers and wept and in exchange for the illusion of peace, sold our leverage for another bad check marked insufficient funds.

Right then and there, on Fourth Street, we should have burned it all down, set the American Dream on fire.

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