When someone talks to me in dulcet tones on how America needs to torture to preserve our way of life, and that our occupations of other lands are necessary to ensure our safety; I begin to be scared.
When someone softly insists that bailing out the crooks of Wall St and then handing them the keys to the safe and assures me that all will be well from now on; I begin to be amazed.
When some gently explains to me that transferring the wealth of the nation to a few is the right thing to do; I begin to get angry.
When someone sympathetically feels my pain and then tries to lift my purse from my bag; I begin to resist.
When someone says that the sacrifice will be shared equally in a cool clear voice when all the evidence is the contrary; I head for the door.
When I am told that my body is not my own and that my rights are secondary to the common good in pleasant patriarchal tones; I begin to fight back.
When I am told that the wealthiest nation on earth cannot afford to share the wealth we all created in a mellow manner; I begin to scream.
An iron fist covered in a velvet glove is still an iron fist.
I'm tired of fluffy bunnies.
Updated by LaFeminista at Mon Mar 14, 2011, 03:21:46 AM
I suppose it is a summary of the last ten years or so...