There is going to be a National Strike for Truth and Peace on December 7, 2005. And the only question is . . . Will you be part of it?
You: Dude, are you fucking crazy? December 7? That's Pearl Harbor Day. The wingers will go batshit.
Me: I hope they go apoplectic. I hope they whine and bitch and moan and accuse us of stealing their favorite fucking holiday. Because there's no better day in the universe than Pearl Harbor Day to confront the horror of war and the devasting cost of Bush's Grand Deception.
You: Yeah, but a strike? You're at the wrong place dreamer. We don't actually DO stuff here. That's for old hippies and stoners. We're the keyboard brigade, dude. We're very clever and great with Photoshop and emailing Congress (assuming links are provided) . . . but strike? No fucking way. We don't do strikes.
Me: Yeah, I've noticed.
You: You're going nowhere with that fucking attidude.
Me: That fucking attitude is what happens after five days pushing this with fewer than three dozen people even bothering to recommend. (Thank god for them, I'da blown my brains out by now.)
You: Which proves my point. This is so 1960s. Can't you do something cool like write limericks or talk about cats and shit. Make fun of Rover and George. Be clever. You know. Maybe even scour the news all day so you can write 'BREAKING' in your diary.
Me: ::le sigh::