Saturday, June 23, 2012

Pity the Pale

The Cheap Dude is smacked-down in the middle of many consecutive 12 hour shifts at the mine. Knowing such days would come, he got permission to use the piece below, and set aside a few photos for:


By Kahentinetha
Editor, Mohawk Nation News 

Dear Brown Majority:  Could you please help us adjust to being the new minority among the brown people on Great Turtle Island?  Signed, the New White Minority.

From the edge of "Grand Canyon National Park" looking east over Navajo Nation land. A few miles west, a government sign at the head of Tanner Trail informs hikers of the local "cultural resources," among other things. Scratched into the metal sign, with a knife or key, was the phrase, "BULLSH*T, THIS IS INDIAN COUNTRY!"

Dear New White Minority:  It’s like déjà vu all over again.  [Yogi Berra].  We were once the majority.  And now we are again.

Great Turtle Island has always been a foreign land to you.  Your children may mix with us and your grandchildren may be brown.

At an all brown school, don’t be afraid of those who don’t look like you.  Bring along some cool European culture and try to mix with us.  We will have whiteness studies programs to raise our racial awareness.

Be aware that brown people have a different way of exercising power.  Everybody is equal and has a voice.  We won’t have curfews to close all-night white restaurants and just keep our diners open.

White affirmative action programs and white workers associations will help you.

Browns dying their hair and skin white to look like you on the screen is offensive!

Segregation breeds mistrust and factions. In the city one race doesn’t hold a majority. Racial tensions in the suburbs will be due to poor housing and anti social behavior.

Whites are leaving indigenous neighborhoods so as not to disappear into the refuse of history.  They will be bussed out of housing projects for poor whites to faraway white schools.

Some tips to help you adjust:
Don’t let offensive racial slurs bother you, like honkey or whitey.  Find leaders who aren’t psychos or idiots, like Glen Beck, Sarah Palin or Stephen Harper.  Don’t resurrect Hitler.  Look to someone inoffensive like Justin Bieber.  Run whiteness studies so we can understand you.  You could lure white immigrants to sneak in illegally to increase your numbers, like Canadians.  They’re the ones who say Eh! Get used to most positions of power being filled by brown people, in business, politics, entertainment.  Learn to clean the houses of brown people.  Don’t be conspicuous in the neighborhood by hanging your curtains with the designs facing outside.

Brown people could adopt white children.

Little Colorado near its mouth. A sacred Hopi site is a little way upstream, where turquoise water gushes out of a sipapu.

Whites don’t have a racially secure homeland.  Europeans are becoming Muslim, converting to Islam and learning Arabic.

Europe is becoming brown.  Whites are becoming poor.  They’re starting to think of themselves as non-white and their continent as belonging to everybody.  Hard work and resources of brown people created this once-upon-a-time entitled people.

Europeans have no sense of kinship with each other.  They think the masses should be policed, managed and robbed, creating basket case countries.

Chris Donovan, New York Times, said, “The less whites think about becoming a minority the better”.

The white economic elites and mainstream media don’t want to talk about this.  The richer are trying to hold onto their money and remain white.  16% of them move out of the US every year.

Like millions you could move to one of those gated communities and send your children to private schools.

Remember, for now, the Bilderbergs are still a bunch of old megalomaniac white geezers.

The future is a world of people of color and colorful people.  So lighten up!

Yours truly, the Brown Majority.

MNN Mohawk Nation News 

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Monday, June 11, 2012

The Poor: Clearly Superior

God clearly prefers poor and hungry people--She made so many! This alone makes them superior. Also, their lives’ tortuous trudge endows them with mad skills and virtues along the way.

The poor learn humility early. (That’s still a virtue--right?) The free school lunch ticket and used clothing announce second-hand status from first grade forward. They learn their poop stinks by wiping with phone book pages and unplugging clogs. The well-to-do’s golden toilets and canned stink-pretty sprays fool them into false odor-free pride.

Poor people are often smarter, more resourceful, and more creative, because they have no choice. They learn how to rebuild a transmission, on their backs in the gravel, or walk to their crappy job. They learn which weeds in vacant lots are edible when the grocery money goes for grandma’s medicine.

They decipher the mystery of sewing, to keep clothes on. They can cut their hair with a pocketknife, cook potatoes five different ways, and make their hut sparkle with warm water, a toothbrush, and an old sock.

Meanwhile the pampered few throw money at every problem, seldom learning anything useful.

Poor people are healthier. Walking 17 blocks with a brick of Government Cheese, a giant can of Government Peanut Butter, and a dozen misshapen yams, because you have neither car nor bus fare, is the same as running a marathon. Bored upper class mates hide in a gym, with a personal trainer and big screen amusement, the best they can afford in order to impress each other. Only the bravest get to feel sunshine and breezes.

Poor folks are tougher. They grow up using shoddy, dilapidated, or non-existent sports equipment. Playing tackle football in the street in shorts and no helmet. Volleyball without knee pads on concrete. Futbol in dirt lots glittering with glass shards.

They learn how to fight, stitch a stab wound, and how to run fast while your pants keep falling down. At the not-free-anymore clinic they learn stoic pain endurance from ex-Navy Dr. Qwitwynin N. Gitoverit.

Meanwhile the pampered pansies play on lush turf or green carpet, wearing so much padding they can take a bullet. They see a high-dollar specialist for every butt pimple and NPI (Near-Puke Incident.) As they age, they pay to relieve the agony of Wrinkled Skin.

The marriages of the poor are naturally stronger, since pops can’t afford a mistress, a hooker, or a divorce. He can’t even enjoy free internet porn, no computer nor connection. Moms can’t afford make-up, fad diets, designer clothes, or fancy hair, making her less likely to run off with some other moron.

Too broke to own cell phones, imgayPods, laptops, televisions, or any other overpriced overhyped doo-dad, the impecunious are forced to read print on paper, and talk personally to actual people. Even--god forbid--sit and think. This automatically makes them smarter.

Sitting around unhappy, unfulfilled, or depressed, is a luxury no broke person can afford. They are juggling bills, rebuilding their transmission with a pipe wrench and chewing gum, or inventing an edible meal out of peanut butter, yams, and cheese. If they somehow have $100 to spend on mental health, they know a case of beer and bag of weed last much longer than an hour whining to a psychiatrist.

Poor people tend to go to a lot of church, for better or worse. No job or money? Praying can only make it better since it can’t get worse. Whereas if you have $100 million in the bank, you obviously worship there.
(If “the love of money is the root of all evil,” (1 Tim 6:10 KJV) rich folk are in a bit of a bind. If they keep their cash, they are not allowed into the Invisible Afterlife Playground. If they give it away, they become--shudder--poor.)

Ironically, poor people also party the heartiest. Rich folks’ parties are like funerals without the fun; they’re “so tight you couldn’t drive a pin up their ass with a sledgehammer” as the saying goes. When you have nothing to lose, every day is your last, so you eat, drink, and be merry! (Ecc. 8:15)

Honesty, hard work, and kindness are admirable virtues that rich and poor sometimes share. Being rich is mostly a matter of luck, of being born to rich parents. The emperor’s brat will be “successful” no matter how stupid and lazy. The ninth surviving child of a landless peasant will die with squat, no matter how much he works.

When the penniless observe a sick, hungry, and crying baby, they get a funny feeling inside. Compassion they call it. They might know a lazy bum or two, but mostly their friends and family are struggling with all their might to make a decent life. Rich people would rather club it like a baby seal ‘til it shuts up—or the social equivalent.

Ha-ha, just kidding. Rich people are better, really. They know it’s the workers’ fault when there are no jobs whatsoever, or part-time minimum wage slavery with no health insurance. They know it’s people’s own fault when they get cancer and such. Most importantly, they know it is “good” to spend billions on high powered weaponry to murder men women and children in countries that never did a thing to us. And “bad” to spend any fraction of that to feed the hungry or help the sick in our land. Can’t have them hungry sick people gettin’ lazy!


Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Meaty Graffito

On our way to another wilderness stroll, a son and I encountered this crucial road sign with a spray-paint decoration. Possibly a “masculinist” comment, but more likely the first thing that “popped” into the Vandal’s mind.

What the purpose of graffiti? I think painting words and pictures on concrete and steel is a way of humanizing the inhuman. More so in cities’ acres of solid monstrosities. Son felt it was more a way of belittling the power structure, reminding the Owners not to take it all so seriously.

Either way, a great work. This sign, like so many, unnecessary to begin with. All sober drivers “yield” on one lane dirt road intersections. The decoration underscores the inherent hilarity.

Better yet, every spot of graffiti, every defaced sign, every damaged façade, is good for “the economy.” (In this case, nothing need be done, and probably won’t, until this sign gets its bullet baptism. Every sign on every dirt road in Arizona eventually takes a bullet, or a hearty close-range shotgun blast. Part of our Old West culture everyone seems to adore. The company that makes the signs would be wise to go around blasting signs to boost sales, as no one would know the difference.)

Beyond graffiti: every industrial mishap, car wreck, gun battle, dam collapse, and war, is “good for the economy” too. Breaking and fixing stuff is big business. To turn our Second Great Depression around, maybe we ought to break more stuff.

For instance, if you are unemployed, with no prospects, you don’t need your junky car anymore; use it in service to America. Go to the rich neighborhoods, plow over a few signs, side-swipe a few cars, and bust through a fence or two. Finish in a swimming pool if possible. This means work for the road crews, auto repairmen, fence companies, a tow truck, and the pool guy.

What? Breaking people’s stuff is bad? Our mighty military breaks stuff all over the world with impunity, as we silently approve. Gun and bomb sales are good for business. So is clearing rubble and bodies. So is rebuilding cities. More weapons, more damage, it’s win-win for everyone. Except for the dead, of course, but they can’t complain. Oh, and the maimed.

So if you can’t find a job, do something for the economy anyway. Wreck some stuff. A feel-good, all-American activity for anyone!


Along Kendrick Mountain Trail

A couple of bogus cowboys were the only others on the trail. One of ‘em looked like the only hiking he’d ever done was from the car to the buffet table. His horse looked tired.

The San Francisco Peaks from the top of Kendrick.

A recent court decision allows a ski resort to manufacture snow using “reclaimed wastewater” on the side of this peak, which has been a religious site for the Natives for millennia. Water not quite good enough for human consumption. Yum. Another battle in the ongoing war against the Natives. On paper they lost as usual, but the battle itself is a red herring.

From Ancient Ones on a pilgrimage, or folks like me who hike simply from stupidity, there have been plenty of regular poops on this lovely mountain. Surely it can absorb a little stinkwater.

So the last laugh is on the Modern Ones. The rich will frolic and ski in stinkwater, it will get in their eyes and mouths. Over the years it will wash down into the watershed, and folks will drink it in Flagstaff. Yum.

And no one will raise the real issue: not enough water for this many people. Having to strain out doo-doo and re-use water ‘cause there’s not really enough to go ‘round. To admit all this would be bad for business, except vendors of overpriced bottled water.