There is hope
This is still America, even in 2018. We cannot yet escape to the solar-power station on the moon or Mars. We need to live together and stop shooting each other's kids every night. There are other careers than dealing drugs until jail or grubbing in the ditches until the accident puts us on disability. Some options are: create a career for ourselves, get a job working for "the company with benefits” or write a book about our mental problems. We don't need to pay taxes to both the government and the local gang, we can move. It is America in 2018, not 1950s Russia, where jobs were assigned. There is hope.
The mainstream media’s liberal slant hit a high point during last night’s nightly news. The poor and needy were now going to starve due to Trump’s new tax plan. Really?
Never miss a local story.
Is that really you?
I use my son's credit card all the time. It has a clearly male name on it and I'm an elderly female. I have yet to have a cashier or clerk ask me for any ID when using it. So don't hold your breath on getting stores to start doing that.
Won’t hurt you or me
The St. Martin library/community center is a dual purpose building. I’ve been using both for eons. Ninety-nine percent of the time the parking lot is 99 percent empty. So once in a while, you can’t park at the library front door and have to walk a couple hundred feet. Awww, poor baby. Then again, a couple walks in the parking lots of those shopping centers would certainly save me a lot of time driving loops in the parking lot or idling waiting for a spot to open up in front of my favorite store. Those 20-yard walks are murder on my fat behind. Divided we stand.
Was at a big holiday get-together, trapped on a couch, listening to a couple whine about their little kid having problems at school and how they planned to have the urchin tested for autism, ADD, alien genetic invaders, etc. As I’m sitting there feeling my few remaining brain cells die of boredom, I’m watching their little kid pushing around all the other little kids off on the other side of the room. Three — three — times the kid ran over to his mommy complaining about the other little kids. Once he got hugs and empathy, once a not too big a crumb of sugar-filled cookie, and once his mom got up to scold the other kiddies. As an old person, all I could think was the kid needed a spanking and a lot less hovering more than he needed a medical diagnosis.
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