Tag Archives: occupy

Hippienomics

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The spirit of free love — and free stuff — has hit the United States, and let’s all wallow in the glory of an economy where that’s the only thing one can afford to do is love. The spiritual masturbation of sitting around in a circle smoking a peace pipe and slapping tambourines, imagining everyone’s needs get magically met by wealthy “others,” represents the nadir of a civilization that had given it a good run, but was ultimately defeated — by hippies.

The Dionysian orgy of intersubjective social stuff that was the 1960s led to a lot of great music, fed by mind-altering drugs that made anything seem possible. Growing a ponytail could cure world hunger and sitting around naked in the mud smoking pot and discussing Khalil Gibran could open up an interdimensional rift sucking out all the negativity in the world. The possibilities were as endless as the stream of government handouts that would make them possible.

As the great political philosopher Steve Miller put it:

Feed the babies, Who don’t have enough to eat, Shoe the children, With no shoes on their feet, House the people, Livin’ in the street, Oh, oh, there’s a solution.

Who would do this? Always the government — the “man” whom the radicals purported to be fighting, and the “power” whom the left purported to be speaking “truth” to. From Rebels without a Cause to “Causists” without a Rebellion — how did these drug-addled hippies go from job-duckers to goose-steppers?

The intolerance of tolerance ultimately led the left into a non-conformist conformity that made the hippies easily manipulable by the state. The politically correct notion is that if one is for living one’s own life and being left alone by the government, then one isn’t interested in the left’s social justice program of liberating minorities from not having more money. Opposing the left automatically makes one a latent racist or sexist or homophobe.

In other words, being for freedom and individuality automatically makes one dialectically opposed to the left’s collectivist viewpoint of “helping” racial, ethnic and gender minorities. Where the money to help these minorities is assumed to come from is through taxation of the “racist” folks who are opposed to them. Since capitalism is held out by the hippies to be structurally bigoted, since de facto people are equal and should have equality of means, that means “the white man” (not just particular individuals, mind you) systematically oppressed minorities to get into this position of “cultural hegemony.”

The state is meanwhile wrongly dismissed by these beatnik finger-snappers as its own interest, since we supposedly live in a “democracy.” This means that any majority the left can cobble together would automatically have “right” on its side — an obvious fallacy. Meanwhile, the morals of the nation are undermined through relativism, and the floodgates to illegal immigration are opened, while the introduction of foreign ideals and lifestyles (which are unerringly statist and collectivist) is lubricated by “cultural diversity.” The point is that the state-sanctioned looting of the capitalist system until its collapse is supposedly justified by opposing the racist, bigoted, sexist economy and the nation’s seemingly corresponding history — which was purportedly altered only by the radicals and progressives who championed the little guy (by building state power over his life).

Now, the history of the United States has been one of the systematic and predictable liberation of minorities, according to the internal logic of the founding documents. The original Declaration of Independence condemned slavery and this was supported by the great majority of colonies. The Constitution’s “three-fifths” clause actually undermined the southern states’ representation in the Congress. Not to mention that slavery is completely un-capitalist, because it is fundamentally opposed to property rights, individual rights, and economic freedom. One owns one’s own labor and can dispose of it as one sees fit; but this does not mean that one can enslave others to one’s own wants and needs through the government.

But because of the state income tax and progressive taxation, passed by the virulently racist Woodrow Wilson, the government not only has the license to control all the money in the economy, but can penalize producers and reward non-producers. Because of the central bank, the systematic destruction of the economy can be forestalled to some unseen, unknown date in the future, and the fingerprints for the predictable demise framed to be those of the rational opposition who try to halt the madness just prior to the inevitable collapse.

The reaction of the radical libertarians, whom Ayn Rand called the “hippies of the right,” has been to oppose state power to the utmost — seemingly for its own sake. Often unstated is the moral case for capitalism and the sanction for state power used for ethical purposes, such as to defend private property and make the case for individual rights.

The key to our nation’s implosion is the destruction of reason. As the great polemicist P.J. O’Rourke wrote of hippies:

Everything. You name it and I believed it. I believed love was all you need. I believed you should be here now. I believed drugs could make everyone a better person. I believed I could hitchhike to California with thirty-five cents in my pocket and people would be glad to feed me. I believed Mao was cute. I believed private property was wrong. I believed my girlfriend was a witch. I believed my parents were Nazi space monsters. I believed the university was putting saltpeter in the cafeteria food. I believed the NLF were the good guys in Vietnam. I believed Lyndon Johnson was plotting to murder all the Negroes. I believed Yoko Ono was an artist. I believed I would live forever or until twenty-one, whichever came first. I believed the world was about to end. I believed the Age of Aquarius was about to happen. I believed the I-Ching said to cut classes and take over the dean’s office. I believed wearing my hair long would end poverty and injustice. I believed there was a great throbbing web of psychic mucus and we were all apart of it somehow. I managed to believe in Ghandi and H. Rap Brown at the same time. With the exception of everything my mom and dad said, I believed everything.

This explains the view of the left-wingers today, who don’t feel compelled to pass something as trifling as a budget, stare unblinking at unending trillions in deficits and shrug, and believe that mankind itself is a toxic scourge that must be environmentally controlled by a necessarily totalitarian state.

The starkest contrast was provided of late between the fledgling tea party and Occupy Wall Street movement, and the cultural elites chose to demonize the former (apparently for their corny tee shirts and habit of leaving public spaces cleaner than when they found them) and lionize the drug-using, syphilis-spreading, criminal syndicate of smelly tramps and trust-fund free-loaders agitating for an omnipotent state. In other words, former hippies endorsed their own and ridiculed their targets. No surprise there.

But at some point, the enablers turn their backs on the parasites — Atlas has to shrug. Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping

Binders Full of Women with Lady Parts in a Twist

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Evil conservative men like Mitt Romney objectify women, don’t you know? It’s true! They just don’t get it that it’s important to help women in the workplace, and give them special treatment there. Women especially need help when it comes to landing jobs in government! And didn’t you know, he didn’t really ask for those binders full of women? Well, Wonkette said it, so it must be true! (They also showed us about those really gross books that creepy polygamist Mormons keep! Ewwwwwww!)

And those evil Breitbart people lie! They must have made up names of women that said they were treated poorly by the Obama administration. That’s so unfair! And Obama signed the Lilly Ledbetter thing, so it can’t be true that women working for him get lower pay! We need laws like that to protect us from evil businessmen like Romney, so they pay us what we deserve. No, they don’t get that women need protecting. They just fire back with quotes like “You can’t protect women without handicapping them in competition with men. If you demand equality you must accept equality. Women can’t have it both ways.” Who the hell cares what some woman named Mary Bell-Richards said decades ago? She was wrong anyway! We can have it both ways! Just ask Obama.

But worst of all, those nasty conservatives really need to stop condemning Muslims. Islam doesn’t oppress women! It’s a good and pious religion, and they all respect women greatly. And no, Muslim men don’t get virgins in paradise – it’s just a misconception. Didn’t anyone tell them it’s really raisins?

And if the conservative men weren’t bad enough, there’s the conservative women! How dare they suggest that they are not responsible for paying for birth control for any woman that wants it? Don’t they realize that it is their responsibility to take care of all other women? We have been fighting for our rights for years, and they just don’t get it! We have the right to control our bodies, and it’s the responsibility of the state to provide us with birth control. And they are wrong about the idea that women should choose workplaces according to their own needs. It’s our right to have the government force employers to do what we want. We deserve to have everything handed to us. All that guff about personal responsibility is nonsense! Just ask Obama.

The 405 Radio Interview with Lee Stranahan


What happens when you let Lee Stranahan talk freely on-air about Occupy, Pigford, Attorney General Holder, and Twitter Wars? John Grant and Liz Harrison found out on The 405 Radio on Saturday, October 6th. If you missed it live, catch the podcast (on iTunes), and hear Lee explain what he’s been working on for the past couple years.

Then catch hour two, where Liz, Mike from LoudmouthElephant.com, and Wayne Dupree (NewsNinja2012) do a final wrap-up on the debate, talk about NAACP backing away from Obama, and BSA denying the Eagle Award to a “open gay scout.”

The Hope and The Change, A Review

130 million homes, 7 key battleground states, the largest cable distribution of a political film in history… Could The Hope and The Change impact the November 6th presidential election? David Bossie and Stephen Bannon not only think it’s possible, they’re hoping for it.

David Bossie of Citizens United and Stephen Bannon of Victory Film Group have teamed up to present a game-changing political film that defies the typical rules of documentaries. Without endless tape of sob stories, pouring over boring statistics or shocking viewers with graphic photos, The Hope and The Change takes viewers into the lives of typical Americans throughout the country. It features 40 Obama voters who are registered Democrats or left-leaning independents. Their stories are compelling and relevant. They will affect you, and they will cause you to examine why you vote the way you do, regardless of political affiliation.

Bannon, the film’s director, says, “We wanted to show the real stories of real people… so we chose 40 democrats and independents, people who had voted for Obama in 2008, to tell their stories.”

The film took a year to complete with much of the pre-production work centered around polling and choosing the cast. Bannon chose Pat Caddell and Chandra Stewart, popular democrats, to lead that effort saying, “It was so important that we chose credible people to make this film. I think we achieved that.”

For conservatives, the film is almost a “told ya so” moment, but for Bannon, that’s not the intent. He says this film’s desired audience is the neighbor or friend who is having a little buyer’s remorse, someone who thought they were doing the right thing in voting for Obama. It’s for the grandmother who thought Obama would help her Medicare situation or the trucker who thought his business would thrive under lower gas prices. The Hope and The Change reminds everyone of the failed agenda and broken promises, but also offers true hope for a better future. In a sense, the film is giving these former Obama supporters permission to make a change.

The Hope and The Change has launched a massive ad campaign that spans the gamut of cable channels and will be aired multiple times throughout the last weeks of the campaign. The hour-long film, which will be in more than 130 million homes throughout the US and in key battleground states, could be a game-changer.

To find showtimes in your area, click here (and show a friend!): Showtimes

Another Bannon/Bossie collaboration, Occupy Unmasked, hits theaters this week and is sure to be a controversial end to the amazing life of Andrew Breitbart who is prominently featured in the film. Read more here: Occupy Unmasked

Occupy Unmasked

“For those who’ve been paying attention, this film is an affirmation. For those who haven’t, it’s a revelation.” – Stephen Bannon, CEO of Victory Film Group and close personal friend of the late Andrew Breitbart

Stephen Bannon, producer of the popular documentary Undefeated, teamed up with Citizens United and Andrew Breitbart to “rip the mask off” the Occupy movement.

In a theater near you is arguably the best work, and potentially most important work, of the late Andrew Breitbart. His last documentary, Occupy Unmasked, takes everything you think you know about the Occupy movement and turns it on its head. Through video evidence, documented proof and exposed email chains, Breitbart walks the viewer through the Occupy camps and rips the mask off the perceived intent of the protests to reveal the truly dark nature of the movement.

“This is not a bunch of college kids and hippies putting this thing together,” says Bannon. “Below the surface is a very dark, very ugly and very dangerous group of people.”

The film begins with nearly 4 minutes of media clips taking the viewer back to 2011, reminding us of the national conversation about America’s debt, the deficit and the debt ceiling debates that dominated the news cycles. The media would have you believe the Occupy movement grew out of disdain for government spending, that “largely peacefully” protests broke out all over the country in response to runaway debt. But only 2 minutes later the viewer will realize that media spin couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Just beyond the violence and chaos, drug use and property destruction, defecating on police cars and multiple rapes, are the Occupy organizers.

“They managed to change the narrative. Their goal is to create chaos, destroy the system,” continues Bannon. “They want to create anarchy, put the system in crisis and from crisis gain power.”

Occupy organizers were able to change the public conversation from cutting deficits and cutting spending to public outcry over income inequality. They created a narrative around class differences neatly packaged into a “haves versus the have nots” theme. This was no grassroots groundswell of otherwise unlikely political activists. Occupy is a well-crafted, carefully calculated strategy to dominate the national conversation to change America and eventually change the world. Occupy Unmasked proves this beyond doubt.

So who are the power-hungry, highly financed, media-connected Occupy organizers? Why did one such organizer, Malcolm Harris, a self-described communist, trick thousands of people into believing the band Radio Head would be performing at Zuccotti Park? Who is the New York Times writer who helped him? How are employee unions involved? Why is this group still organized, protesting and occupying? What are the real goals of the occupiers and what are the goals of the organizers?

See Occupy Unmasked in select theaters beginning September 21, 2012. To find a theater near you, click here.

“An organizer must stir up dissatisfaction and discontent…” – Saul Alinsky, Rules for Radicals

See The Hope and The Change, a film with the potential to change the course of the November 2012 presidential election. To read my review, click here: The Hope and The Change, A Review

The Dark Knight Rises: The Occupy Left Get the World & the Justice They Deserve

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No wonder the Democrats were afraid of the Dark Knight. The final installment of Christopher Nolan’s sweeping trilogy provides a breathtaking excursion into the depravity of moral relativism and the triumph of the human spirit in the face of great evil.

The lame attempts by the modern left to commandeer a film that was billed in advance as ‘one of the most conservative ever’ was a tip that this film was not your average comic book thriller.

The left desperately tried to connect the film’s arch-villain Bane to political foe Mitt Romney by risibly suggesting that the former governor’s days building successful companies at “Bane Capital” was akin to going on a mass reign of terror. Democrat Congressman Ed Markey seized on the film as a platform to spread yet more unfounded fear about global warming. ABC News disinformer Brian Ross latched onto the name “James Holmes” to make a ludicrous connection between the Aurora massacre shooter and the tea party  to smear a benign political movement as a criminal enterprise like the Obama-endorsed Occupy movement.

Never mind all that. Although I was skeptical of advance praise by conservative critics, the film completely obliterates the shibboleths of the left of “returning power to the people” and pursuing “social justice” by getting even with the rich.

Without giving much specific about the plot away, Gotham City devolves into a pit of wanton crime and vengeful mobs after an eight-year period of peace and order, brought to them courtesy of “the Batman,” but falsely attributed to the deceased “two-faced” District Attorney Harvey Dent. Commissioner Gordon knows the truth about who saved Gotham from the Joker and his criminal minions, but made an agreement with Bruce Wayne to let the people rest securely in the lie that Harvey Dent was the hero.

In the meantime, a self-exiled Bruce Wayne languishes in the recesses of Wayne Manor, a figure unable to enjoy life without exacting justice on criminals who are the manifestations of his inner demons. The Catwoman’s character, played by the slinky Ann Hathaway, provides a powerful lens through which to view the tension between selfishness and justice.

Essentially, a “coming storm” of chaos and lawlessness brews in the Gotham City underground, as the powerful crime boss “Bane” arrives on the scene and builds an army of fanatical foot soldiers who starkly and unmistakably resemble the zombified Occupy movement. Bane is a viscerally intimidating figure with a compelling backstory that unfolds late in the movie, and develops into a nemesis for Batman.

In the end, director Christopher Nolan gives the Occupy crowd exactly what they want in vivid cinematic strokes: a world without ‘hierarchy,’ and a mob of vengeful psychopaths exacting ‘people’s justice’ on the rich on behalf of the underprivileged and poor. But the question is begged: Then what?

As more than one character battles the traumatic experiences of his and her life, it all boils down to a choice: is the injustice of life a call to seek revenge on one’s fellow man, or to grapple with one’s ordeals to be a better person, a personal protector of the poor and downtrodden, and a righter of wrongs?

The ultimate conclusion is that we cannot outsource our virtues to the government or to any demagogue that comes along. We have to be heroic ourselves.

The Perils of Democracy

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In America, it is nearly a ubiquitous truism that ours is a democratic nation. In popular imagination, all virtues spring forth from the fountainhead of democracy, and all vices consist of its aristocratic or reactionary opposition. Yet we were blessed with the founders’ vision to anticipate the instability and capriciousness of mob-majority rule, and our Constitution was imbued with individual rights, sanctioned by no less than the Almighty itself.

The terms democracy, freedom, and liberty are retained in our popular vernacular without meaningful engagement of the historical circumstances that gave rise to them in the culture. The intellectual doctrines of the progenitors of these terms, Locke, Paine, Madison, and Jefferson, among others, are obliterated in the people’s education, while their persons are held aloft as exemplary and heroic. Even as their names are occasionally invoked for the expediency of politicians, these great thinkers’ innovations and exhortations have tended to become progressively inaccessible to most citizens.

Over time, such conceptual errors as the conflation of majoritarian fiat and individual liberty, surely propagated by the enemies of freedom, prove fatal. We are at pains to point out that the American revolution, which was not simply a revolt against the tax-slavery of Britain, but rather an unprecedented revolution of philosophical bearings away from collectivist tyranny, turned out as it did almost precisely because it was not the French Revolution. In France, democratic fervor soaked the decrepit land in blood, providing fertile soil for the regrowth of an authoritarian form of governance. Sprung forth from the chaotic masses was the spirit of nationalism, which renounced the emancipatory powers of self-rule, and instead crowned an emperor.

Thus, in revolutionary France, unbridled passion led the unthinking mob to dethrone a monarchical despot, only to cede all power to a nationalistic dictator. At least the monarchy had the wisdom of studied self-preservation on its side; the new regime, self-confident and poised to sweep up the continent, embarked on a heady crusade to remake the ancien regimes of Europe in its own image.

The impending disaster of the Napoleonic Wars foreshadows the experience of twentieth century Germany, whose National Socialist movement was nearly as romantic and just as collectivist; but the latter departed from the French by implementing “scientific” methods of manipulating and controlling society. We are loathe to point out that the great dictator was democratically elected. The formula strikes the modern-day American as hauntingly familiar.

From the great upheavals of the modern era, we may trace a thin pencil line back to the Fourth Crusades, whose impulsive sacking of Constantinople removed a Christian bastion stemming the rising tide of the Musselman. Therefrom we may leap back to the doomed Sicilian expedition of the Athenians, a hasty gambit that was pitched to the war-weary citizens by demagogues in the language of greed and glory. The dispassionate historian Thucydides displays the Athenian ploy’s divergence from reality as a retreat into sheer hubris.

The common theme of these historical events is that there is no “wisdom of the people,” as a populist politician of late would have us believe. The desire to promote “the common good,” as the current opposition party has enshrined in its latest pledge to the American people, is as vacuous and venal as the politicians themselves choose it to be, and is merely an homage to the democratic status quo.

With each passing generation, we depart from the exceptionalism that is the hallmark of the American tradition, the individual and his capability of transforming the world through humility, hard work, and rational self-interest. America’s reverence for the individual is what made it a shining beacon to the world, driving millions to come to this nation’s shores. Today, the individual is culturally and politically absent, brushed away from the history books, and disappearing into competing democratic mobs.

As Alexis de Tocqueville put it in his prescient introduction to Democracy in America:

The poor man retains the prejudices of his forefathers without their faith, and their ignorance without their virtues; he has adopted the doctrine of self-interest as the rule of his actions without understanding the science that puts it to use; and his selfishness is no less blind than was formerly his devotion to others.

Self-interest devoid of rationality is anathema to civil society; and it is no surprise that the deposed oligarchs of the ancien regime would eventually seek vengeance upon the wayward children of the European and American revolutions by retaining the politically useful aspects of their historical movements, while stripping them of their redeeming cores.

In Europe, the supposedly ineluctable drive for equality gave way to uncritical reception of the primitive ideology of socialism. The irony of socialism is that it does not lead to the promised utopia of perfect equality, but rather to a state of severe impoverishment of the preponderance of the people, led by the naturally self-interested oligarchs who impose a socially ossified system.

The genius of the American revolution is that its core tenet of liberty nurtures men who learn to rule themselves. A hardy, self-directed people, innocently propelled to meet their own needs, provides the general equality conducive to what Aristotle considered the best society, the one directed by a vibrant middle class.

America’s impending reversal from individual rights and resultant self-reliance to a political system of paternalism and patronage will foist conditions on the nation that will appear in many respects like pre-revolutionary France. The hard left has deliberately fostered revolutionary conditions in this nation and has sought to implement social upheaval that will engulf the American people and lead to the return of the state. The imagined revolution will feature the reaction of the increasingly mislabeled “conservatives,” who now find themselves in the awkward position of radicals, strangers in a strange land.

Should the dreaded hour arrive when we are forced to choose, when our nation reaches some unforeseen but steadily approaching breaking point, will we choose the “democratic” revolution of France or the individualist revolution of our forefathers? Our country’s clamoring for “democracy” will presage socialism, the chosen model of the beneficiaries of the welfare state, as well as the preferred ideology of elites who seek to return man to a neofeudal order animated by the secularized religion of altruism. If we persist in our ignorance of the perils of democracy, we will undoubtedly choose in error, and become prey to the hubris that precedes all calamitous falls.

Occupy Movement Shouts “May Day!”

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Field reporting by Blaine Dabbley, embedded guerrilla journalist in the Occupy movement’s twelfth brigade and sophomore student in Film Studies at Emerson College, writing for the Sentinel Dispatch.

It was a rude awakening Tuesday morning when my roommate Seth put his size eleven boot squarely in my jaw. I lay prone and drooling on my unicorn sleeping blanket, unsuspecting of the tirade that was to come.

Stomping around the dorm and thumping his chest like a gorilla, mad as a silver back finally able to grab a hold of some picture-snapping Japanese tourist, my testosterone-saturated roommate proceeded to frogstomp me into a near coma. He kept rambling on about “Call of Duty 4!” while spouting off certain unsavory sexual terms that shall be left unsaid, since they are part of a hate speech suit I intend to bring. It seems the stupid, closed-minded fool couldn’t realize that I had done him a favor by scratching his disk! The game obviously promoted America’s neo-imperialist wars of aggression, which were still being waged against the poor brown-skinned peoples of the Middle East despite President Obama’s best efforts.

But the worst part was when Seth snatched me up by my freshly glittered bronytail, which I had dyed with impressive streaks of pink and powder blue for the “May Day” rally. I had gotten the idea while cowering in the corner the night before as Seth and his drunken friends vagazzaled his girlfriend Lisa for her birthday. It actually came out quite nice.

In a huff, I grabbed my dufflebag and my trampled pride and hit the road. The open road south reminded me of the potentialities of becoming the next great American writer, perhaps the next Jack Kerouac or even a Matt Taibbi. If my beat coverage of the courageous Occupy Movement could stir the apathetic and ignorant public to save our democracy, I wouldn’t believe my life was a total waste.

Entering the city, the crisp morning air was suddenly roiling with the rusty brown vapors of exhaust. It smelled like war in my mind, as I sat in crawling traffic on the Tappan Zee bridge. I felt invincible cranking up the visceral stylings of the authentic punk rock band Green Day, and I devoured its anti-corporate message.

Finally arriving in lower Manhattan around noon, my Occupy brethren were already there in full force. I could see my friends Janet, Wilson, Mary, and Christopher on the street corner, holding the signs “We are the 99 percent,” “This is What Democracy Looks Like!” and “You Don’t Speak for Us, Corporate Media!” We met near a Java Joe’s near Zuccotti, which was a really bad idea since we were all jonesing for cappuccinos and forgot about the national strike. We decided to strike for an hour as a sign of solidarity and grab a few to go — but no espresso today. This was war.

We struck up a conversation with some homeless people nearby and asked them if they wanted to join the rally. They didn’t seem to like us much, however. When they asked us for some change, we told them that was exactly what we were working for — change. We informed them that under our proposed system, they would never have to beg for money or food again. They scoffed at us and shuffled down the sidewalk. My friends and I weren’t sure what we said wrong.

As we stumbled onto the city street, fully recaffeinated and recharged, the Black Bloc anarchists showed up. They were looking all badass like the shock troop cavalry had just arrived at Thermopylae. They were armed with billy clubs and we were armed with blue tooth headsets. We made a formidable pairing.

The sirens were blaring and the mounted police showed up. And still we pressed on. The anarchists were determined to take down the business establishment and the clash with police loomed like an irresistible force soon to meet an immovable object. They marched like a herd of rhinos, seemingly sharing one mind, over to ransack the coffee shop we had just visited.

This presented a moral dilemma: do we join in out of principle or abstain because we enjoyed our delicious beverages? After a unanimous show of up twinkles, we decided to tag along. Seeking an explanation from the anarchist leadership, I wiggled loose my digital recording equipment and approached with caution.

We picked up our signs and were ready to join the fray when almost immediately skirmishing broke out between Occupy and some tea party rabble that had shown up to harass us. The insolent bastards were throwing diapers and pacifiers at us, yelling some drivel that it was time to grow up. But they didn’t know that we were going to tell our black bloc brethren!

Suddenly, a huge guy with a nose ring and prison tats showed up with a brick, ready to bash the skull in of one redneck ‘tea party mom,’ until a female police officer jumped in his way. He smashed her in the helmet and lunged at the teabaggers, but then a dreaded tazer struck the goliath in the hamstring. After a few zaps and a disgusting odor of smoke, the man was felled like a mighty oak. (For those who would like to contribute to his legal defense fund, please contact me below.)

And then there was silence. The sight of a human toppling like a Jenga set was enough to put the fear into our circle of comrades. We immediately burst out into a rousing chorus of “Kumbaya” as Wilson thumped admirably on his moroccan drums. But the black bloc crew wanted no part of it. They continued on towards the local business establishments, like a giant blob sharing one centralized brain. We were in awe.

I ran into the volatile mix while my friends stood in shock. My second-hand army field jacket rustled in the wind, as I disregarded the tear gas, the piercing sirens, and the police bullhorns and ran up to a brute wearing a Guy Fawkes mask. “Today, what are we fighting for?!” I yelled. Pushing my mic into his face for comment, all I could get at first was “Hmmmph!”

I instructed the man to take off his mask and I asked him again. Just then he ran full steam into the plexiglass window of the store, bouncing off without even cracking it. Meanwhile, several of his comrades found the door and wrested it open from the store manager before he could lock it. The faces of the yuppies sipping their coffees as the black bloc army sought to smash this vestige of the capitalist system was truly priceless.

But before the brigade could bring this heartless expression of our cruel system to its knees, the agents of the one percent showed up to crush our grand aspirations. It was us against them. Occupy against the world. Compassion against the capitalist system. And as the raid came down upon us with full force, the pigs tying our hands behind our backs, we swore that this would not be the last they had seen from us. We will never die out. We can never be silenced.

This is what was rushing through my mind when I detected the faint sound of people laughing overhead. Lifting my chin to look up at an assembly of gawkers, it appeared several policemen had gathered around me. They were just standing there, sipping coffee, munching on donuts. Were they laughing at me?

After they snapped a few pictures with their digital cameras, cluelessly mocking my super-trendy hairstyle without any appreciation of its deeper cultural significance, they untied me and let me go. But not before one of them planted a boot in my ass, with a hearty gusto not even my roommate Seth could match.

Occupy will have its revenge. Oh yes, we will have our revenge. You can bet on it.

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker and OwntheNarrative, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.

Evil Bank’s Student Loan Crushing Your Dreams? Not for Long.

These days, all the cool young protestors seem to be talking about one thing. The calls for beheading Wall Street executives have quieted down a little and the new focus is- student debt. Yes, those evil giant banks are at it again- forcing poor innocent students into taking massive loans with crushing interest rates that will haunt them for the rest of their adult lives.

There is a petition circling colleges- the Support the Student Loan Forgiveness Act of 2012. To anyone with a rational mind, and even the slightest comprehension of how the free market works, the petition is laughable. The petition scathingly rips into the notion that higher education is an individual commodity rather than an investment in the ‘collective future’ of the nation.(Silly conservatives and their ideas about individualism.) It also boldly states that student loan forgiveness will stimulate the economy and restore the American dream for millions of middle class Americans struggling under the burden of their debt. Aw. With rhetoric like that, is it any surprise that the website, SignOn.org, is sponsored by the totally agenda-less George Soros funded MoveOn.org?

Oh to live in the world of liberal logic. Somehow, millions of defaulted loan payments just magically vanish and the economy is fantastic. Those defaulted payments don’t get passed on to investors and customers of the loan holder’s bank through increased fees to make up for the financial loss.

Even Steven Lerner, SEIU and Occupy Wall Street organizer, hinted that part of the next phase for the Occupy movement is student debt strikes. Lerner wrote in a recent article for the left-wing publication, The Nation “There is growing interest in Occupy and student groups in a student debt strike. The banks can’t foreclose on a brain or a degree. If a critical mass of student debtors—a million or more—pledged to refuse to pay, it would create a collection crisis that could force negotiations about reducing student debt.”

Those evil banks, asking poor, starving students to repay the money so generously loaned them. How dare they ask you to be accountable for your actions! How dare they limit your access to college education! A guaranteed human right! (Apologies to Thomas Jefferson, who’s probably rolling over in his grave). Because of course, handling debt responsibly and not taking on more than you can afford, is not an option.

Whatever happened to the self-made man? In the 21st century, where even if you don’t have high-speed internet access in your home (yet another basic human right those evil Republicans are trying to deprive the underprivileged of) you can go to any local library and use a computer, shouldn’t self-education be easier than ever? Basically every government organization and college has an online library where you can access important documents and research. Or crazier still, you could pull one of those dusty old books off a shelf. (Except then you’d probably just be accused of hating the environment.) But that would require you acting as an responsible, functioning individual in society rather than a piggy-backing parasite of the collective. After all, every enlightened liberal knows, personal responsibility and integrity are the crazy ideas of those pretentious old wig-wearing men who wrote that ridiculously outdated document all the disillusioned conservatives are still clinging to.

Guest Photoessay: Obama Youth League Rises from Occupy Movement’s Ashes

Dana Milliband is a photojournalist and beat reporter for the New London Times. His work has appeared in Rolling Stone, Esquire, The New Republic, The Atlantic, and Coffee Drinkers Monthly.

The dilapidated shanty towns lovingly erected across America’s towering urban metropolises in protest of rampant Wall Street greed were until recently the sites of many a strident sit-in, raucous drum festival, and vigorous love-in. But the Coleman-covered encampments were not merely the makeshift assemblies of anti-capitalist contagion, they were the ramparts of a generation left out in the cold of free market madness.

Pacing the abandoned ghost towns, my footsteps crushing the discarded styrofoam containers, cast aside like so many broken dreams, I sought any signs that the weary youths were not hopelessly lost. Avoiding the excrement of their dashed expectations, I soldiered onward until there was the faintest sign of human activity ahead. Encircled around a rusted oil drum, some standing with their hands cupped over a blazing inferno, were a dozen youths of fiercely defiant visage. Unsheathing my Nikon D4, I set out to tell these broken warriors’ stories.

The air was chill, but not exceedingly so, as I cautiously approached Lynn, a Lesbian Rights Activist at New York University. One could tell from her skulking war cry, which she screeched out of nowhere, that she was in no mood to be trifled with. Red-dotted napkins littered the encampment, meaning the activists had either sacrificed a squirrel or the ladies were cycling together. Regardless, I plucked up the courage to strike a conversation with the young people, drawing on my sobering experience in the South American rain forests.

Lynn instantly calmed once I unwrapped a granola bar and slowly handed it to her as if we were making an illicit drug transaction (not that I would know anything about that). She was genial from that moment forward and warmed to the idea of interacting with the press. After giving her an extensive list of credentials, she agreed to let me photograph her and interview her for the article. The other brave souls agreed likewise.

The Occupy Movement, from all of their reports, was in a state of crisis. Lacking a clear set of goals or anyone who really cared about their non-negotiable demands, they decided to shift gears and become a political action committee: the Obama Youth League. Unfortunately, the Occupy movement had suffered from extremely unkind media coverage, and new recruits and donations were in short supply. The president didn’t even seem to want anything to do with them. The heart of the movement was all that remained, formed by a grizzled cadre of veterans who could spearhead a new campaign come spring.

Lynn passed an empty tuna can to Pat Walker, a transsexual anarchist from South Queens. Apparently, this was a way of signaling that it was someone else’s turn to talk.

The winds instantly picked up and peering over the skyscrapers, the overhead sky had faded from crystalline azure to bleached faded gray. Below me, a two-year old in a Che Guevarra T-shirt tugged at my khaki pants and was peering into my waste pack. Handing the boy a packet of peanut butter rice cakes, Pat instantly smacked my hands away.

“Don’t give my son any peanuts!” Pat exclaimed. “Miguel is extremely allergic to nuts and fish!”

“Oh, sorry!” I replied in shock, not knowing what such a fragile two-year old was doing out in the cold like this.

Picking up the package from the ground, which garnered a number of perplexed looks, I began to feel the cool drops of rain splashing on my neck. Forgetting where I was, and drawing sheerly on my maternal instinct, I casually offered for the gathering to come to my Manhattan apartment for a photo session. Shockingly, the entire band heartily agreed.

We took the train to my apartment. Of course, I had to pay for the excursion after the council convened and determined it was their right to free transportation. So be it.

Hopefully, this would be my insight into the inner workings of the Occupy Movement. What drives them. Their hopes, dreams, and their expectations for America’s future.

Upon entering my beautiful apartment, “Mike J.” unzipped his canvas rucksack and passed a glass bong to a tall preppy kid simply called “Jonesy.” A college girl named Sarah peeled off her hoody and threw it onto the floor.

“Woo-hoo!” she yelled. “Par-tay!”

“So…” I interjected in a loud voice, trying to get a hold of the Occupiers before some kind of crazy mob mentality took over. “Before we move into my studio, I want to hear some of those high ideals that motivate you as a movement.”

“Obama 2012!!” came a shout from behind me. “What-what!”

“Excuse me?” I asked, not understanding.

“Dude, we’re just trying to get Obama re-elected,” said a Crustafarian-looking kid in a faux-army T-shirt. “What else did you think this was about?”

“I don’t know. Principles…ideals,” I searched my memory for some of the platitudes I’d heard them shout early on in the movement. “Fairness?”

“Man, it’s all about free stuff,” said another kid. “Now shut up and toke a J.”

“No, I’m not going to toke a J!” I responded angrily. “Who gave you permission to smoke marijuana in here anyway?”

I snatched the cig from Jonesy’s hand and reluctantly took a hit.

“Can we just finish the photo shoot?” I exhaled after suck a hit in deep. “You guys can hit the showers… one at a time, of course… cause to be honest, yall are ripe.”

“Sure thing, dude,” Jonesy said. A couple of chicks were already rifling through my goth collection wardrobe. When they began making out, I wanted to tell them to stop. The words began to come out of my mouth but fell flat onto the floor like pebbles.

“Over here, big dawg!” I shouted, popping open a Lowenbrau from the fridge. “Check out my studio. Ain’t it pimp?”

“Man, it’s alright,” he said semi-impressed. “My dad’s a corporate attorney in New Jersey and one of his clients is Mick Tellsley. Went to his studio one time in Piscataway, and the man has some impressive chops.”

“THE Mick Tellsley?” I replied in awe. “Did you see his spread in Vogue covering Sundance?”

“Hell yeah, bro,” Jonesy replied. “April 2010, collector’s issue. Got it laminated and framed at my college pad.”

“Let me shoot you,” was all I could get out. “You’ve almost got fashion model good looks.”

“You really think so?” he asked rhetorically, smoothing back his hair.

Just then, a young lady dressed in retro Gothic attire exited the dressing room. She was marvelous. Hastily throwing together a canvass with Jonesy and Blaine, I put together my tripod and began snapping pictures.

Here was the soul of the Occupy Movement, not that emo-crap spread put out by Becky Weston of the Village Voice. Simply known as “Red,” she embodied everything one could want in a symbol of the future: doleful, dark, and depressing.

This was the Obama Youth League.

Next in my photoessay was Joan, a transplant from Anchorage State who was simply bored with life. She joined Occupy because she liked people, Obama, and drugs.

After telling me her life story, she disappeared to the dressing room and emerged looking like a goth angel. This was no longer about a political movement, but the spirit of America.

“Give me nonchalant!” I yelled enthusiastically. “Now, disillusioned!”

The shoot kept getting better and better. Inspiration was dripping off the photographs.

Moved by the experience, and possibly the cannabis vapors lingering in the air, I felt like joining these Young Turks protesting the system through their rebellious calls for bigger government and support of America’s historic president. Why not rally for free college tuition? Free healthcare? Free… whatever? The only thing holding us back is our imagination.

Finishing the shoot with Blaine, a friend of Jonesy’s, I was satisfied that I had captured the full spectrum of the Occupy Movement and it’s burgeoning Obama Youth League. I felt that these faces would serve the president well in his bid for a second term.

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.

Guest Photoessay: Obama Youth League Rises from Occupy Movement's Ashes

Dana Milliband is a photojournalist and beat reporter for the New London Times. His work has appeared in Rolling Stone, Esquire, The New Republic, The Atlantic, and Coffee Drinkers Monthly.

The dilapidated shanty towns lovingly erected across America’s towering urban metropolises in protest of rampant Wall Street greed were until recently the sites of many a strident sit-in, raucous drum festival, and vigorous love-in. But the Coleman-covered encampments were not merely the makeshift assemblies of anti-capitalist contagion, they were the ramparts of a generation left out in the cold of free market madness.

Pacing the abandoned ghost towns, my footsteps crushing the discarded styrofoam containers, cast aside like so many broken dreams, I sought any signs that the weary youths were not hopelessly lost. Avoiding the excrement of their dashed expectations, I soldiered onward until there was the faintest sign of human activity ahead. Encircled around a rusted oil drum, some standing with their hands cupped over a blazing inferno, were a dozen youths of fiercely defiant visage. Unsheathing my Nikon D4, I set out to tell these broken warriors’ stories.

The air was chill, but not exceedingly so, as I cautiously approached Lynn, a Lesbian Rights Activist at New York University. One could tell from her skulking war cry, which she screeched out of nowhere, that she was in no mood to be trifled with. Red-dotted napkins littered the encampment, meaning the activists had either sacrificed a squirrel or the ladies were cycling together. Regardless, I plucked up the courage to strike a conversation with the young people, drawing on my sobering experience in the South American rain forests.

Lynn instantly calmed once I unwrapped a granola bar and slowly handed it to her as if we were making an illicit drug transaction (not that I would know anything about that). She was genial from that moment forward and warmed to the idea of interacting with the press. After giving her an extensive list of credentials, she agreed to let me photograph her and interview her for the article. The other brave souls agreed likewise.

The Occupy Movement, from all of their reports, was in a state of crisis. Lacking a clear set of goals or anyone who really cared about their non-negotiable demands, they decided to shift gears and become a political action committee: the Obama Youth League. Unfortunately, the Occupy movement had suffered from extremely unkind media coverage, and new recruits and donations were in short supply. The president didn’t even seem to want anything to do with them. The heart of the movement was all that remained, formed by a grizzled cadre of veterans who could spearhead a new campaign come spring.

Lynn passed an empty tuna can to Pat Walker, a transsexual anarchist from South Queens. Apparently, this was a way of signaling that it was someone else’s turn to talk.

The winds instantly picked up and peering over the skyscrapers, the overhead sky had faded from crystalline azure to bleached faded gray. Below me, a two-year old in a Che Guevarra T-shirt tugged at my khaki pants and was peering into my waste pack. Handing the boy a packet of peanut butter rice cakes, Pat instantly smacked my hands away.

“Don’t give my son any peanuts!” Pat exclaimed. “Miguel is extremely allergic to nuts and fish!”

“Oh, sorry!” I replied in shock, not knowing what such a fragile two-year old was doing out in the cold like this.

Picking up the package from the ground, which garnered a number of perplexed looks, I began to feel the cool drops of rain splashing on my neck. Forgetting where I was, and drawing sheerly on my maternal instinct, I casually offered for the gathering to come to my Manhattan apartment for a photo session. Shockingly, the entire band heartily agreed.

We took the train to my apartment. Of course, I had to pay for the excursion after the council convened and determined it was their right to free transportation. So be it.

Hopefully, this would be my insight into the inner workings of the Occupy Movement. What drives them. Their hopes, dreams, and their expectations for America’s future.

Upon entering my beautiful apartment, “Mike J.” unzipped his canvas rucksack and passed a glass bong to a tall preppy kid simply called “Jonesy.” A college girl named Sarah peeled off her hoody and threw it onto the floor.

“Woo-hoo!” she yelled. “Par-tay!”

“So…” I interjected in a loud voice, trying to get a hold of the Occupiers before some kind of crazy mob mentality took over. “Before we move into my studio, I want to hear some of those high ideals that motivate you as a movement.”

“Obama 2012!!” came a shout from behind me. “What-what!”

“Excuse me?” I asked, not understanding.

“Dude, we’re just trying to get Obama re-elected,” said a Crustafarian-looking kid in a faux-army T-shirt. “What else did you think this was about?”

“I don’t know. Principles…ideals,” I searched my memory for some of the platitudes I’d heard them shout early on in the movement. “Fairness?”

“Man, it’s all about free stuff,” said another kid. “Now shut up and toke a J.”

“No, I’m not going to toke a J!” I responded angrily. “Who gave you permission to smoke marijuana in here anyway?”

I snatched the cig from Jonesy’s hand and reluctantly took a hit.

“Can we just finish the photo shoot?” I exhaled after suck a hit in deep. “You guys can hit the showers… one at a time, of course… cause to be honest, yall are ripe.”

“Sure thing, dude,” Jonesy said. A couple of chicks were already rifling through my goth collection wardrobe. When they began making out, I wanted to tell them to stop. The words began to come out of my mouth but fell flat onto the floor like pebbles.

“Over here, big dawg!” I shouted, popping open a Lowenbrau from the fridge. “Check out my studio. Ain’t it pimp?”

“Man, it’s alright,” he said semi-impressed. “My dad’s a corporate attorney in New Jersey and one of his clients is Mick Tellsley. Went to his studio one time in Piscataway, and the man has some impressive chops.”

“THE Mick Tellsley?” I replied in awe. “Did you see his spread in Vogue covering Sundance?”

“Hell yeah, bro,” Jonesy replied. “April 2010, collector’s issue. Got it laminated and framed at my college pad.”

“Let me shoot you,” was all I could get out. “You’ve almost got fashion model good looks.”

“You really think so?” he asked rhetorically, smoothing back his hair.

Just then, a young lady dressed in retro Gothic attire exited the dressing room. She was marvelous. Hastily throwing together a canvass with Jonesy and Blaine, I put together my tripod and began snapping pictures.

Here was the soul of the Occupy Movement, not that emo-crap spread put out by Becky Weston of the Village Voice. Simply known as “Red,” she embodied everything one could want in a symbol of the future: doleful, dark, and depressing.

This was the Obama Youth League.

Next in my photoessay was Joan, a transplant from Anchorage State who was simply bored with life. She joined Occupy because she liked people, Obama, and drugs.

After telling me her life story, she disappeared to the dressing room and emerged looking like a goth angel. This was no longer about a political movement, but the spirit of America.

“Give me nonchalant!” I yelled enthusiastically. “Now, disillusioned!”

The shoot kept getting better and better. Inspiration was dripping off the photographs.

Moved by the experience, and possibly the cannabis vapors lingering in the air, I felt like joining these Young Turks protesting the system through their rebellious calls for bigger government and support of America’s historic president. Why not rally for free college tuition? Free healthcare? Free… whatever? The only thing holding us back is our imagination.

Finishing the shoot with Blaine, a friend of Jonesy’s, I was satisfied that I had captured the full spectrum of the Occupy Movement and it’s burgeoning Obama Youth League. I felt that these faces would serve the president well in his bid for a second term.

Author’s note: The above is satire. It is a fictionalized account intended to elucidate certain ideas and principles by taking them to absurd lengths. It is not intended to be taken literally.

Kyle Becker blogs at RogueGovernment, and can be followed on Twitter as @RogueOperator1. He writes freelance for several publications, including American Thinker, and is a regular commentator on the late night talk show TB-TV.

Occupy Protesters Charged With Hate Crimes, Robbery

Several members of the Occupy Oakland protest are accused of surrounding, taunting, battering and robbing a 20 year old area woman after she asked them to not riot in her neighborhood in late February.

An Oakland Police spokeswoman said that, “She was surrounded by three protesters and battered as they yelled vulgar epithets regarding their perception of her sexual orientation”.

The Occupy thugs then stole her wallet before she was able to break away and call the police.

One suspect was arrested at the scene and two others were taken into custody at a February 29th Occupy protest event. All three have been charged with felony counts of robbery and hate crimes.

Police are asking anyone with information to contact the Major Crimes Section at the Oakland Police Department.

America largely unimpressed with the 'Occupy' crowd

A poll run on January 3rd and 4th sought to understand just how America feels about the Occupy parks, streets, tents and jails movement – 24% of them haven’t really been paying much attention to the youthful anarchist/socialist/anti-corporation/anti-bank/pro… well, not really sure what they are for.

24% of responding Americans said that they have pay no attention or very little to the Occupy movement and 58% said they have an unfavorable view of the leaderless, directionless and goal-less movement. To accentuate the point, 51% of those surveyed said the find the Occupy members to be a “public nuisance.

Most Americans have tried to understand the reason for the park-squatting and when Rasmussen asked that question only 24% said that the Occupiers had gotten their message  across.

It turns out that a leaderless mob, being co-opted by unions and globalists just isn’t all that effective – who knew?

 

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