Posting Up on HWash

I’m posted up in the Harold Washington Library in the loop in Chicago. It’s a pretty nice spot, despite the obligatory smelly people and uptight security guards who, much like the Wicker Park branch, yell at me for drinking water and/or diet coke. It’s really obnoxious. I’m at least twenty feet from the nearest book or piece of equipment that could be remotely damaged by a spill, and yet here they are anally enforcing an annoying rule. Bah, I mean, they are just some working class dudes trying to make an honest living but I wish they would relax a bit, although in today’s job market I suppose no one wants to take the smallest chance that they might get fired. Fair enough, I won’t give you attitude when you enforce your lame rules. 

Despite the fact that there are about fifteen unoccupied tables in the vicinity of the one I can occupied, two bros decided they were gonna sit across from me and flirt, text message incessantly, and generally be distractions. I was thinking about how they kind of look like blipsters (an offensive term that I have come to use out of necessity. I mean, do we really need to say “black hipsters”?) and, judging by their visible affection for one another, are romantically involved. Thus, I’m beginning to wonder if we need a new term to describe black, gay hipsters. Blaysters? No, that doesn’t work. Maybe we should just stick with gay blipsters…whatever, I’m already bored of this question. If you have any commentary or solutions to this rather banal, bullshit problem, feel free to comment and either berate me for pondering it or offer up a potentially entertaining and appropriate neologism or portmanteau. 

Anyway, I’m completely disenchanted (once again) with mainstream politics. They are all weasels. But, as you probably noticed, I’m more than in favor of writing scathing attacks on anyone in politics, though typically only dipshit conservatives. Yet, some of you so called Blue Dog Democrats better watch your back–your next, fuckers. On that note, here is a piece from The Nation that is appropriately critical of all those fools who consider themselves ideological allies of Joe “slimy opportunist” Lieberman, the onetime Democratic candidate for Vice-President who is now without scruples or even beliefs, as his only concerns seem maintain his position as a corporate shill who has somehow managed to hold on to his seat in the Senate despite an apparent absence of anything that remotely resembles scruples or convictions.  What a slimeball.

Dear good (?) people of Connecticut, 

Your two ignoble Senators, Chris Dodd and Schmoe Lieberman, reflect very poorly upon you as a collection of citizens. Granted, I have no reason to believe most of you are remotely intelligent or have a half-decent sense of the moral or ethical commitments we human beings should make to one another, and the importance of electing public officials who are at least marginally decent and competent people, but your selection of these two buffoons is utterly absurd. Please redeem yourselves in the public eye by showing the good sense to elect people worth their weight in anything besides sleaziness. I hate to lump you all into one massive group of dipshits, but I feel that you need a collective kick in the behind to get your asses in gear. Stop harassing those fools from the financial sector who supposedly fucked the American people over and take some responsibility for the future. Our government allowed it all to happen, why don’t you hold those you can accountable? No one cares that you went to Yale (UConn might be even worse) or were in whatever secret society where you enjoyed bizarre, cult-like ceremonies involving gerbils and old, stolen Native American artifacts. In fact, we only care to the degree that we are judging you for having engaged in such lame behavior and that you still think it matters. I’m undecided on whether this is worse than your merely being a run-of-the-mill frat boy. Whatever, redeem yourselves, and don’t you dare make fun of Princeton, New Jersey, or Jon Bon Jovi. I’ll put out a mob hit on you if you do. Capiche?

Sincerely,

Killa Clarke

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