Feeds on life, feeds on you.

"To all my friends present past and beyond, though you weren't with us too long, while you were here the fun was neverending. Laugh a minute only the beginning..." ~ Pennywise, Brohymn.


How do you measure a year? By time, experience, pain, love, joy? Every change that could happen in a year also happens a million times in a life. What makes one year stand out from any other? How does the mind choose which memories to hold close and which to let fade away? Every person is built by the memories they keep but what happens to the ones we don't? In a year I've watched my world change in ways I never imagined but how is that any different from anyone else's? Maybe I'm just paying attention now. In a year I've gained a sense of self I'm not certain I even knew I needed. My reality has been checked and rechecked. Still the things standing out don't seem real.


A year ago this month I lost a job I only loved when I was drinking the Koolaid. Since losing that job I've learned alot about who I am, not the least of which being toothpaste can double as deodarant in bind and pasta is the poor mans filet mignon (mothafucka)! A year later I think finally, I'm reaching a point where the standard corporate bureacracy applied to carry out my firing, by a company insisting they were different, no longer stings quite as bad. Still, I'm not able to say it was just business. Getting fired is always personal and though it may not have been personal for a single person at that company aside from me, I'd be willing to bet the majority of Americans who've been fired over the last few years would agree. It's fucking personal. It's not personal in any one singular way, yes at points you cry and your angry and you have your little pity parties and your depression but the reality of your fears and the overwhelming feeling of failure is not nearly as personally affecting as your literal reality. It's not that I was fired, but that I couldn't find my way, couldn't be sure how the bills would get paid or how long I could live off of pasta and hope that made the experience deeply personal. I never hated the company that put me out over a quota that was changed mere months after I was fired or even spoke badly about it. I will admit, to a now minor grudge, against the woman who fired me. I can't help but wonder if she even has a clue as to how inappropriate it is to text people you've fired about how you miss them. Looking back at it maybe if she did that every day I might have gotten out of bed earlier just out of pure anger at her. After a year of thought on her role in particular I'm still not in a place where it's not personal, but I no longer hate her. I learned from that experience that the people you stand up for will not stand up for you. The reality is it was my failure that was the most personal part of losing that job and it was that failure that was the easiest part of this year to overcome. There is nothing about the dynamics of that situation in its current state that I can honestly say I want to be a part of. As much as I may hate my current state of employment I breathe a little easier knowing this time it is nothing but business and the only back I care about is my own.


I've lost much more this year than that job and its those things, these people that I've struggled the most with. With the death of my Aunt I've found myself questioning the importance of friendship and family, trust and memory. I've looked back at the secrets I've kept for myself and for others and come to a few conclusions. Maybe if I'd told her a few of the things I didn't, she wouldn't have been where she was. The oh so important conclusion to that is there's not shit I can do about that now. Just the seperation of things I can do something about and the things I can't is a daily struggle for me. The maybes and what if's of our lives will eat us alive if we let them. For me its the active struggle that reminds me that I'm not trying I'm doing and if its getting easier its time to move towards the next challenge. The most recent conclusion brought about by the death of my Aunt is that the only addiction worth having is life and time is short. I may not be able to live the life I wanted right this moment but time is not a given.


In the months following my Aunts death I lost a friendship I thought I'd have forever and relearned a crucial lesson she had taught me years before. I can't say my own crazy didn't feed on the spoonfed crazy of others in this case but I can say I got lost in the grey of it all. Still I can't help but wonder if maybe I told this person a few things about the story I was getting things wouldn't be different, then I attempt to embrace the idea that some things are just better left alone. ~Sometimes the people you meet are just people you meet along the way and the love you have for them is just part of a cycle. A cycle in desperate need of breaking. The memories of a good friendship are still not something I'm sure how to categorize. How do any of us really figure that one out. Ten years from now will it still bother me that the addicts in my life were the people I loved the most even at 27? Will I still wonder why the fuck I opened up to someone I didn't trust in this situation or will I be where I want to be in life and this unfortunate experience will have faded away with all the other memories we forget in a lifetime. ~File this in the trying to struggle, not quite understood pile of minor what if's I'm still allowing to nibble at me. The lesson relearned doesn't need to be repeated, It's a secret I feel better kept inside the vault. The paranoia and disgust induced by this chapter of a year of unfortunate goodbyes is an active battle and exorcise in letting go, so far, demons be gone, but temptation still lives.

In a final twist of deaths platinum sickle my Grandmothers death brought a whole different feeling. My anger at my Aunts death, at my foolish belief in friendship, at my inability to instantly have the dreams I wished for, all came into perspective with this confusingly final and freeing end. I loved my Grandmother and in her end I saw her, the full kaleidoscope of her. She was in every way a queen, of what I still don't know but a queen nonetheless. In her life she did everything her way and everything was done her way. It is family folklore she was dying since she was sixteen and it is in this that I now, after her death find perspective. She lived a long and driven life but the reality is she and every one of us are dying from the day we are born. Time is what we make it and she burned as many bridges as she made but therein is the meaning of her life to me. The ancient Egyptians are said to have weighed hearts against a feather to determine worthiness of the afterlife. In my Grandmothers case I'd put money on her bringing her own feather and even more money on her getting in. She was crafty like that. The final image of my Grandmother was that of an extremely confused woman putting her pajamas on backwards yet still refusing to walk with a cane. The peace I find in knowing who she was has recently motivated me to fight the safety of the cycles my life once repeated so easily.

A week from today will be 5 years since I lost my first friend. His life was more lived than most peoples. The memories of the people you love live long after they pain of losing them to change, stupidity, craziness and even death. But I wonder if the pain and hurt of being left behind ever really fades. If the loss of that first loved friend ever fades to the loss of the next or the one after that. If we are unfortunate enough to outlive the people we love does the hurt ever fade like the sting of questioning your self worth or the loss of a friendship to lifes growing pains. Is death just a business we can grow to take less personally or is it an ever personal mind fuck? Though this is yet another question I cannot answer, I know I am closing the door on a mostly unimpressive year with one word as my biggest lesson ~ Live.

Stove is on, fridge is wobbly and he had love.

Some asshole once told me all the answers you could ever ask for are found in a connection between the mind and the heart. It was a long time ago and I'm probably not remembering the words exactly but it's been on my mind lately. Some other asshole once told me no one would ever love me, this has been on my mind lately too. The thing about broken people is they can't be fixed like a tangible object. You can't pick a person up rebuild them and send them on their way, healing a heart, a mind, a person, doesn't happen overnight. You can't just hand them a bandaid and say "all better, now go play!", there is no magic bandaid, no specified cure for a broken person and no two broken people are broken the same exact way. What broke me was a fear i'd never get away from the asshole who said no one would love me. That fear paralyzed me in ways only someone who's been there might truly understand. It's disappointing to me how long I've let that fear combined with those words keep me paralyzed. I've been loved my whole life and I never really believed no one would love me, but for me its something similiar to thinking you left the stove on when you know you didn't. It lingers. You know its utter bullshit but that doesn't make it hurt any less and you still find yourself wondering when that day will come where someone, anyone, will come along and reassure you of just how bullshit it is. As we get older it becomes more important that someone love us. Not in the way family or friends love us but in the way a partner, a combination friend, family and lover, loves us. No matter how broken we get along the way people need to be loved in that way, frightening as it may be to admit for some of us, no one wants to wake up alone, wondering if they left the stove on.

Some people never make the choice to move past broken. Others spend years meticulously rebuilding but choose to stay in a constant loop of prerecorded self loathing, self pity and self doubt. Some put blinders on to reality and replay the events leading up to their ultimate breaking, over and over, hoping somehow, this time things will go according to plan. Some realize these attempts or lack of attempts to heal are not working and some don't, but everyone gets where they're going based on their own fuel. For some its fast, for others its slow and for a sad handful healing never comes at all. Your heart is a muscle so full of attachments and functions that even the tiniest break can change the functionality of your entire body so why would a broken heart of the figuritive sense be any less powerful? When people have heart attacks they're told to take it easy, change their lifestyle, make healthier choices.Many times following this advice makes all the difference and sometimes it makes no difference at all. Occasionally some crazy fucker keeps boozin and druggin and lives far past his prime even after a heart attack, occasionally a perfectly healthy person drops dead in the middle of their morning run. Either way life doesn't just hand us what we want because we want it.

Our spirits, our hearts, our broken, none of it heals because we ask it nicely. We don't wake up one day, our past erased our scars all gone. Our scars make us who we are but if we never let our wounds heal we'll always be broken. For some people the urge to pick the scabs and keep the wounds open is just too much. Some of these people never heal, some of these people eventually find eachother, wrap eachothers wounds, heal together and live something like happily ever after. There are some though that just want to be loved. These people will find someone broken something like what broke them to begin with and they will let them rip open the wounds because some where along the way some asshole warped their idea of love and even if it hurts, open wounds are what they know of love.

People settle for less than what they deserve all the time in life and the less likely a person thinks it is that someone could love them, the more crazy they're willing to let in their life. No one wants to wake up alone forever and for many people there comes a decision to trade sane decisions and independence for some one to go home to and say they love you. It's part of being human. Some of us survive very similiar events and walk away with completely different needs. Some of us heal slower than slow but eventually we stop picking the scabs and actually heal. Some of us just want to be loved and some of us want to heal and be loved. I prefer my scars to scabs, but not everyone is like me.

*** Mothadear***I believe she just wanted to be loved. I believe in his own broken way he loved her. I also believe sometimes this is all anyone has to have over anyone else to keep them where they are. ~ Life is what happens while we're making other plans.- John Lennon

Barbies and ducklings...

Pen and paper what an original thought, I started writing this on good old paper with a shiny black pen. The problem with pen and paper is like so many things in this world today, no one REALLY uses them anymore. Earlier this evening as I sat in my grey cubicle in my grey work environment, I wondered if other people feel like I do when they sit down to their cubicles full of germs and proceed to be someone else for 8 hours a day. Do they look at the people around them and think : How many of these people actually are who they wanted to be? Do they conclude each time, as I do, that in a room of 100 maybe 10 are actually happy and that those ten are only happy because they became part of the machine too long ago to remember who they wanted to be. Does anyone else wonder what the other 89 people are doing there?


On day one of this particular journey one of the 10 made the statement "You can always change who you are! So why not change?". With energy and true belief in what they were saying this person made this statement and had it not been in reference to using fake empathy and keeping a smile in your voice when answering a phone it might have been inspiring, refreshing even. In the context it was used it only made me sad to think that anyone could feel pretending to be glad someone called to pay a bill or sorry they we're having trouble with anything, was a good way to keep people happy. Realistically its just another way to keep people in their place. Not so much the smile in your voice crap, but the false empathy is a tactic that makes me vommit a little in my mouth each time I hear it, pretty much anywhere in life. In the context it was made this statement of change made me want to get up and run fast and far for something, anything a little more real and a little less bullshit, if only the bills paid themselves.

Apply this "Why not change" thought process to other things in our lives and suddenly we are the 8 hours a day we spend in someone elses crockpot. Suddenly we're all exactly the same, on the outside atleast and what good does it do any one of us if we all appear the same? This in itself spawns an entirely new dilema for me. If we all changed into the people we wanted to be, would we really be any happier? If the supermodel and the entrepreuner, the writer/worldtraveler and the dad and family man, ever became these people they so desperately wanted or claimed or wanted and claimed to be , what then? Would they be any fucking happier?

We've become a "why not change" society and this is not a bad thing. Unless you never do it for yourself, unless each change you make is to please the picture other people give you of yourself. Life has no easy fixes, no amount of money can buy you the life you wanted, nothing worth having comes just because you want it to and no one sticks around to watch the toilet flush a good life away. People pop pills to change their brains, their bodies their lives. People make drastic and permanent changes to their outsides. Quickly and quietly they "perfect" their imperfections and move further from who they were born and closer to who they are told by some voice in their head or some dozen voices in some magazine to become. Be thin, be feminine, be blonde, be brunette, have hair, have none, be masculine, be built, be tough! What the hell ever happened to just being yourself? Whatever happened to mind body and soul all working together and keeping us in our place as we were born to be? Not everyone was meant to be the people we're becoming as a society and where did our feet get off to because the ground seems so far from where these quick fixes and vane changes are taking us. While we're all so busy looking at the pretty pictures of who we could be, I wonder if anyone remembers who they ever wanted to be. I also wonder if we don't need to become who we wanted to be more than who they want us to be. If only to keep nature from crumbling from sheer lack of use.

I'm wondering how healthy it could be to change who you are, just because you can. After years of running fast and far from who I am just because it reminded me of who I was, I can't help but think who I want to be is exactly who I need to be. No amount of money or debt, pain or pleasure, love or loss can take away the picture of me I've found. Wherever I'm going, I'll get there eventually and it will be fucking beautiful, I will be fucking beautiful. I wonder will anyone else be there.

The last of the good time biker bitches...

There are those who will not understand where this is about to go and for them I will say just like she would have "Fuck'em", I'm not sorry, this one, this one is for me. If your looking to read on about all the great things my Aunt did in her life keep reading, but if you're looking for me to sugar coat my anger and hide my pain so this can be comfortable and easy for you to read then please, skip this one. If you want honest, you want real, you want Nancy, then you take the good with the bad and you keep reading because this, this is for me as much as it is for her and she never sugarcoated who she was. This may hurt but there is nothing about death that doesn't and maybe thats a lesson we could all walk away with.

My aunt was a pill popping drunk with a loud mouth and a great rack. There it is I said it and maybe it didn't have to be said to get where this is goin, but there it is in black and white. Not everyone could understand a statement like that but I am damn sure she would have rather I put it out there than pretended no one's thought it. The greater truth, the deeper, more important FACT, is that my aunt was one of the strongest women I have ever known. There is no way to remember a persons strength without recalling their weakness and maybe it's not polite and maybe it's not how you would do it but professional life aside when I think about my Nancy, our Nancy, polite is not the first thing that comes to mind. I think loud, loving, living and in her finest moments goddamned breathtaking for all the right reasons and all the wrong ones too. Even after that there is so much more before polite. She wore her scars better than most and if all you saw was the pill poppin drunk then you never looked her in the eyes and you definitly never listened past the whiney tone she got when she was hurting.

She wasn't just my blood, she was my friend, my other mother and my hero. Nancy showed me how to enjoy what I had. Sometimes it was as simple as dancing to Zepplin, toilet papering my Aunt Amy's house, hiding out just long enough to get it together or sharing my secrets with someone who had been there, done that, but she always had a way of makin it better and I guess that's what Aunts are for. Right now though, right now in this very moment, I'm pissed off between tears, I'm wishin she was here and I'm waiting for her to call, drunk and pissin and moanin about the last bitch to piss her off. To tell me how the last ride on the hardtail fucked up her back or how she's once again friends with the backstabbing bitch she told me about last time we spoke. I'm putting off sleeping because when I wake up this will still be real, she'll still be dead and people who knew her will still be telling me how "surreal" this all is and how "sorry" they are, and what I want to do is scream. More than that I want to laugh until I forget the sad parts and only remember the good. I want to hear stories about the loud mouth bitch we knew and loved, I want to scream at the sky and tell her what an asshole she is for leaving us. I want to dance to Zepplin until it rains Nancy, hear her laughter in the laughter around me, hear her whine one last time. Watch her dance with the past one more time while sitting at Rays with that smile, you know the one someone gets when they remember a REALLY good time and then tell me she was just gonna have "One more, just one more".

The last thing I said to my Aunt was come home, I love you, come home. When I said this I meant come home to fucking Connecticut but I didn't say shit about doin it as ashes. I know she's no longer in pain and she's in a better place but for fucks sake the one time the silly bitch listened to me she had to go and do it the hard way. The twisted part is, that, that was Nancy. She loved and wanted to be loved, she laughed and lived and she did it all at something close to an 11 but she always did it her way. Knowing Nancy was and always will be knowing life, some serious highs, a fair share of lows but always a good time, always a suprise, always a great fuckin ride and good possibility of a titty shot, even if you didn't really want it.

Dear Ant Nancy,
Thanks for teaching me how to take care of myself in ways only someone you share your secrets with can. Thanks for Steven Tyler, Led Zepplin, The Stones and so much more. Thanks for holdin my hair back and holding me while I cried. Thanks for my first real job and my first ride on a Harley. Thanks for giving me the best parts of you and all the in between. I know wherever you are you'll be with me and I know I'm not as angry as I'm trying to be and I know you get that too.
Fuck you, I love you. ~ Meg

Get a job ya bum...

Portishead and vodka, this is what this day has come to. That's what my secrets have made this day. Secretly I'm a fucking superhero, the sky is purple, I'm everything I want to be and my female organs haven't turned on me and decided they want things. It's only natural to feel disappointed when you realize you're not the superhero you thought you were. These are the sour times and I am a wandering star. Where does that get me? Fucking nowhere. I've been pumping my resume out like a hooker gives out handjobs for the last few weeks. What I have to show for it is a job that is everything I hate about the state of corporate america. Allow me to break it down for you kind folks, 1 hour interview to see if I should get an actual interview. 1 hour for the initial assesment and personality test. 1 hour for the secondary assesment and personality test. 1 hour for the actual interview. 2 hours for the "you got the job, now we want the last ten years of your life" paperwork and 30 minutes for the you could be a junky piss test. So not including the travel time to the individual interviews and the paperwork session from hell, I've already given them 5.5 hours of my life plus permission to dig ten years back into my life for whatever scandelous shit they're looking for. All this just to prove I'm worthy to pick up phones, be nice to people, and join the machine like all the other worker bees. I passed all their tests so far, I mean the drug test hasn't come back yet but I'm a drug free worker bee. No really I am, but passing all these tests hasn't made me feel good, I'm not excited about embarking on my exciting new job as a call center rep, I'm fucking disgusted that I've sold out to, not even the highest, just the first bidder. More than that I'm distraught that my immediete choices are either to sink now or drown later, succumb to the khakis, become the "ideal employee", plaster the fake smile on and pay my fuckin bills or hope for something better. The thing about hope is that it has around the same nutritional value as piece of chalk.

People say "congratulations" and "oh you got a job how great" or"I'm so proud of you!" and after six months of sucking the good ol' unemployment teet all I hear is "took ya long enough", but thats just the little guy in my head that's not what people really think. Or is it? What do "people" really know about where I've been these past few months? Proud of me for what, livin the american dream? Worshipping the almighty dollar so I can get out there and consume the almighty product? I didn't write a bestseller or ride a motorcycle across country, I joined the rest of the unhappily-employed in a rigged ratrace that will eventually land my right back in burn out city with a trigger happy tongue and the same hatred for everything around me that shut down my spirit and killed my worker bee mentality the last time. Misery loves a little company and a big company feeds on misery, starcrossed lovers they are. Whats that you say? A means to an end you say?Three years from a degree to set me free, three years of plaster and koolaid transfusions, three years of chalk and all I see is dust coming out of my mouth as I tell myself I don't have to love it, just do it, like the ad says.

I've lost everything and been free and now its two steps backwards to get to the shiny place in front of me that keeps spitting out hope. Hope is free and anyone can afford it. I've been stockpiling it though its not quite feeding my soul. Then again who really needs a soul when they can have things and stuff to fill the adventure void left by all this american greed. The machine may pay my bills and it can have me for the 40 plus hours a week but i'm only drinking the koolaid because without it I can't continue choking down this pasta. Cheap as it may be pasta and the air sandwiches that go with it, much like hope and chalk have no nutritional value. I miss having money, I miss broccoli and movies, I miss clothes that fit and having money in the bank but mostly I miss being able to take care of myself. In all this I've found myself and even if people don't know, I know. Knowing the rules is the first step to getting where you're going, I am my own evolution. I am no where near complete and this is just a means to an end. No one ever says I want to work in customer service when I grow up, but people, they do it. I'm not people, I am a superhero.

Clean bathrooms, pink ribbons and winsockies.

Chuck Pahluniuk wrote "No matter how much you love someone you'll step back when the pool of their blood inches up too close.", I've been pondering this lately more than usual. On Tuesday someone I love had pieces removed. Not the first pieces, just more pieces. After they took the first pieces she said to me, "Meghan Elizabeth, I want to know what they did with them. They're mine." I didn't really know what to say to this, I think I may have laughed until she laughed. What do you say to that? I mean either you laugh or you cry and she and I, we don't cry, it doesn't work for us, it slows us down. So we laugh until we go back to figuring out how to rule the world. Ruling the world begins with long beautiful hair, your hair is your crown. Next came clean bathrooms, this is key, if you cannot hide that you are human you will never be queen! Also cleanliness lives next to godliness and someday you might need a little god even if its only as a rental. Basically, don't cry over spilt milk, clean that shit up and put it in your pocket, thats a token of cleanliness your gonna trade for a little kindness some day. After this you must own your chosen path of crazy and stick with it. This is essential to your survivor as a ruler, there can be no wavering, no uncalculated shifts in the direction of you and your one woman army. Your mercy is your weakness and your strength, use it with care. Finally, A hard head makes a soft but.



What happens when the Queen loses her crown? You buy her wigs, overpriced, ridiculous, costume wigs and you pray to the god you've been cleaning for that she laughs and wears them.When it's revealed she is, in fact, human and she's cashed in all her spilt milk for a few extra sour years and gone bat shit crazy? You hope its just the cancer fighting the person you love that lived in there.You hope you weren't completely oblivious and blind to who this person was. You wrestle with the thought that what you saw was a mirage.Then you think, "What could a queen have that could cover the interest owed to good old Grim for continued use of the body?". Perhaps the Queen had nothing but pieces, and maybe she wasn't specific enough with one Mr. Grim Reaper, in regard to the terms. Possibly she didn't read the fine print, where it clearly states the good pieces, the kind, loving pieces that the important people love a queen for, those pieces will be the first to go. And if a hard head makes a soft but, what makes a hard head? What makes a hard head? How about banging it against a wall and plotting your next big jump of the sane train, your next bold, death defeating move.That could make a hard head right?

The more important question for me lately is what happens when there are no more pieces to take? When all the harvestable parts have been removed, what exactly is left. I'm trying to believe that the very best parts were passed along to the important people long before the deal with Grim, before the cancer settled in and started redecorating and before we started stepping back. I'm wishing the lessons learned from the Queen before the fall can be remembered longer than the ugliness of a lonely body snatcher named cancer. Each end has its own beginning and somewhere in the middle we turn to run from the puddle that is the inevitable end. No two people will run in the same direction, at the same speed or with the same form but every person will step back before they go and everyone will feel guilt for not going back to stop the blood flow. The last few years I've been stepping further and further back. I've closed my eyes and lost track of the blood but it hasn't stopped pooling. It's survival mode and I may have committed to it. This isn't about CPR or applying pressure, it's not about loving someone enough to splash around in their blood and it isn't about saving them. This is death after life. This is a fight that must be lost eventually because no one gets out alive, no one, literally lives forever. Except maybe a Queen...

Vote and see, what's beef?

There is an election coming up and its going to be a bigger one than anyone seems to think. I'm no politician and this all my opinion based on what little I do know, but sadly it seems to be more than most of my generation. I don't know that its truly understood what is actually at stake over the next few years if those of us too busy to care don't find the time to care. There are so many people who don't believe that voting matters. To them I have a challenge: Learn about the candidates for this midterm election and vote. Vote and see. See if your vote matters, if everyone who thinks it doesn't matter took the time out of their day to vote and that shit doesn't matter, then what the fuck did you lose? But, if each of these poor unfortunate "I don't matter" souls voted and it did matter, then this revolution will have begun in a whole new way, more importantly this generation will have learned from its past. Our current President is attempting to clean up an 8 year mess caused by a man who let people in his own country starve for 5 days, relaxed oil drilling and safety laws to near non-existence, "stimulated" the economy by giving millionaires tax breaks, while the rest of us lose our jobs to less expensive sweat shops in other countries and he kicked all this off by sending a large part of our country off to war with a country over his daddys beef. Provided this is not just the eye of the storm and things are finally starting to settle, this is the time to keep it from getting worse for us small people.

President Obama , or Barack as I like to call him when I yell at the television, is trying to get us small people a little help but we have got to start helping ourselves. If a building burned a slow burn for 8 days, then you put it out on day 9, you will never be able to build that building back up, as it was or better, in 2 days and without help 8 days or 80 may not even be enough. As a generation and as a country we are allowing our present mindset and our future lives to be manipulated by money, greed, and a lack of self worth created by a combination of forgotten history, American privledge, mommy and daddy issues and a mainstream media so connected to big business that no one bothers to report the whole news at all anymore. Congress and the president are made to fight like an old married couple but slowly this president has made some progress where others have failed. As the progress begins to roll down it is met with the largest man made "accidental" environmental disaster this country has seen since New Orleans survived Katrina but lost the city to shotty government issue levees. As the wheel of progress gets stuck in crude oil, the Bush relaxed policies and MMS regulations and inspection policies seem to have been forgotten as the cause as people all over the gulf search for some one to blame and someone to do something. Hey America : STOP BLAMING THE FALL GUY, start accepting some responsibility, either you want things done fast or you want things done right but you will never get them both simultaneously.

Republican candidates and supporters all over this country are saying really dumb shit, and getting away with it. Arizona's current governor in attempts to be re-elected couldn't read her own speech during a debate. Moments of silence, giggling and poor english awkwardly holding together a statement that would give Lewis Black a heart attack and this woman is leading in all pre-election polls in Arizona. Glenn Beck is calling our President a racist for attacking or trustbusting big business, which just so happens to be a majority of old white guys who have been making rules for everyone but themselves. All my pal Barack is really trying to do is give the working class people back their chance to survive by taking back the opportunities and principles this country was founded on. If you don't think your vote counts then what do you have to lose by voting because you have everything for yourself and your children to lose if you don't. If you voted for President Obama then give him and the people he supports a chance, help them to help you have a brighter future. Know whats happening and take the time out of your busy money driven, bill ridden existence to see if your vote makes a difference and gets your country back to being yours instead of some unknown "theirs". Vote and see, I fuckin dare you!