Yeah, I know I don’t blog much anymore, but, in my defense, James Bowie and William Travis died at the siege of the Alamo – they probably didn’t blog much either while their communications were cut off and they slowly starved in need of reinforcements while they were being surrounded by enemy forces. I remember Texas and my days there fondly, as I am sure the Texas patriots did even while they were under attack and while they drew their last breaths defending the ideals that brought them there. They were left to twist in the wind and probably shouted obscenities in defiance of the devil himself in defense of their ideals, so I will follow their example and I am making my last stand with words, and not a Bowie knife….
Remember the Alamo? #realworldstruggles (random internet photo)
Lots of wonderful moments of time and small victories have happened, but today, I figured out that my cries for help and my pledges of allegiance fell on deaf ears. To abandon the historical reference – here goes (and I will bring it back to historical context in the end).
My oldest child, my one and only true larger-than-life-Texan, is a 6’1″ varsity volleyball player in addition to being a 4.0 student; a four event medalist at state track; a top 10 award winner in Forensics (old people like me call it Speech and Debate Team;, a top 10 FFA judging winner; a Student Council rep; a cheerleader; member of the drill team; Scholars’ Bowl participant; Art Club member; a main actress/ singer in the all school play; and held a job (or did until her boss was diagnosed with cancer) for four years. She has (mostly) purchased her own clothes, mostly her own food, and paid for her own fuel for two years straight. She also hates – HATES – for me, her only parent, to attend her events because she doesn’t want to let me down. So, out of respect, I stay away from watching her in sports or any other event where spectators are a normal occurrence.
The hitter is mine and I would rather try to catch a cannonball in my teeth than be on the other side of the net from her…
Today – by accident – I found out that the “pillars of the community parents” planned to have a party to make signs for Sub-State Volleyball. The tournament is this weekend. They inadvertently had two separate group messages going. One of the pain-in-the-ass- constant-group-messages was for the breakfast, and the other for their private get-together to make the fancy signs to put on the sides of the road for the players to see on their way to the big event. Well, not all the mommies from the “good families” were on the same page, because one of them let the cat out of the bag and I found out that I was obviously, purposely, personally excluded from the cool-bitches’ gathering.
I could shout about this and claim special snowflake victim status, but I doubt (or at least I hope) that they didn’t do this on purpose, but…. when it comes right down to it, I struggle financially, I am a single mother, and I wasn’t raised here. I have a job with unpredictable, and unconventional hours, and none of the Mean Mommies have bothered to ask why I do not attend games to watch my child participate in sports, cheer, or dance. I have very minimal community ties except for law enforcement (which is well known) and I changed my own, and my childrens’ names for reasons that seem suspicious to these catty, hateful bitches. (Oops… I typed that???!!! for you to read and I didn’t delete it, dammit)
The school guidance counselor refuses – yeah – refuses to assist my Junior in High School in scheduling her college entrance exam even though all the kids from “good families” have already taken theirs with her assistance (or, more correctly – at her insistence) , but, yet, I have college recruiters breathing down my throat from over a dozen different schools trying their best to offer her a scholarship for both athletics and academics. Despite – or in spite of – my begging for instructions or assistance the counselor keeps blowing me off and not in the happy-fun way.
Meanwhile, I dealt with this bank-breaking mess. (P.S. Don’t drive down Schroyer Road (one of the top ten most-haunted places in America)
As it turns out, the hateful sign-making mommas had nothing to worry about when it came to trying to keep from inviting me to their party. I got the call today with one-hour-notice that I needed to come to cover a shift at the bar where I work. ( I make over $25/hour on a regular basis so fuck off, it is a job that usually has flexible hours so I have plenty of weekday free time to take care of my kids’ needs.) My job pays well for the time I have to put in (100-mile commute excluded) but I am the lead bartender and that means that I am basically like a substitute teacher if subs have to go in to work at the last minute with a classroom of kids with behavioral issues and serve them alcohol all day.
Yeah… I also bought a classic car out of a barn….. and, guess what, bitches? This big block is about to outrun the glitter on your hateful, bitchy VB signs (Also, I ruined a good pair of jeans with the awful hot pink soap at the carwash.)
Yet, it still chaps my skinny ass that I wasn’t even invited to participate in the little private Volleyball Mommy Party. No one has ever asked why I am not at games – none of these entitled-helicopter-mom twatwaffles has a clue about the effort that goes into maintaining a household ALONE – and I pray for them every single day that they never learn about it firsthand. They just think I am an un-involved beer slinging bitch. (None of them know that I have an advanced STEM degree – not do they care that it is useless in this tiny town.)
Yep – that is really, truly, little-ol’-me at work this Summer… photographed by Dirty Ernie… the #1 photographer for Easy Rider Magazine in the 1970’s
Meanwhile, I have two other kids. One was bullied to the point that I decided to send her to school in another state. She is absolutely flourishing in a bigger school district with more diverse opportunities. Cross country, swim team, tennis, drama, and a part time job – with the support of extended family and without living in the shadow of her older sister in this small town. … the youngest child is my other little over-achiever who I spend several hours a day encouraging in her passion to learn and grow. I am so busy with work, paying bills, and taking care of the business of the household, that the baby of the family uses most of her free time either doing household chores or researching history to get ready for her latest performance – either on a stage or on the court for sports. (Still an almost straight A student, but she sucks at doing dishes and folding clothes – oh, well – I know when to admit defeat.)
Tell me #3 can’t play at being a ghost or a dead girl for a local Historical Society event!!!
Tomorrow morning I will be up at six to see #1 and #3 off to school. I will pack up the things that #2 (the out-of-towner) needs to pick up from me in the town where I work and, before work I will meet with three business owners who help me make things happen for the Historical Societies and the Veterans’ organizations that I volunteer for before I go stock beer to serve to the patrons at my paying job. After work, I will spend my tip money one dollar at a time (the same way I earn it) so #1’s team has the juice and milk I promised to the Team Moms for HS VB.
Think I forgot to mention that I was teaching #3 to restore bikes…
In the morning (about three hours after I get home from work) I will take the drinks to the HS then shower, then take #3 to her last two little-girl VB games, and then come home to finish sewing our period-correct clothing and do final preparations to our carefully prepared scripts for the Fall Railroad Historical Society run. Somehow, in the midst of all that, I will hit up the bank to pay the mortgage, buy groceries, follow the score or the HS Sub-State Tournament, check in with #2, and do period-correct hairstyles for the evening performance, knock out a couple load of laundry and check my tire pressure because my sensor light came on while I was driving home tonight. After all that, I can figure out how the hell to pay for the renewal on the license plates on three vehicles and buy Halloween costumes in the next ten days.
One of the biggest steam engines ever made…. photographed between VB games…. Yep, shitty Momma that I am, I managed to take #3 to see this history made after a 12 hour shift.
But, at least I will be able to do it all while wondering why the ever-loving- fuck I wasn’t qualified to be invited to sprinkle glitter on signs with the Cool Mommies who got invited to the party, but at least I am not being fired upon by Santa Ana, right??? I thought this was gong to be a safe place and a defensible position. Have mercy and bring a Bowie knife to put me out of this misery, please.
Remember the Alamo, and remember small town Kansas.
(P.S. unaccredited photos are mine-all-mine)
Saturday morning I changed my tire and got eaten up by ten million mosquitoes and gnats (which I am deathly allergic to). My kids, the Track Star, the BabySitter, and BabyBrat did their things….
First of all, my kids are kicking some serious ass.except #3, BabyBrat, who is on a stiff learning curve…. this past weekend, however, sucked some serious ass. I was stood up by two different guys, one was a major relief – the other one, well, that Hurt.
Like the special snowflake that I am, let me introduce you to the boys/ men who showed me the backside of The Wall in a big way: Rock Star, one of the nicest guys I have ever met. Seriously, I am not even kidding, he is a real-deal signed and sealed rock and roll musician. He is kind, moderately attractive, and my age (within a couple of years) and has health issues that he refuses to take responsibility for…. and that’s why I can’t even.
Which is why, Rock Star, in all his guitar-playing glory, flaked out on me EIGHT minutes before he was supposed to pick me up for a date. …. Really. I blew a tire out the night before our date, changed the tire myself in the morning, went to work, dressed for the date… appropriately, but ‘pretty’ for him…. aaaaaaannnnnndddd he canceled out EIGHT minutes before he was supposed to pick me up. Eh, whatever. It would have been a relief, but I was pissed off over it.
I wasn’t even mad because he flaked out. I was pissed because one of the most excellent, talented, kind and caring men I have ever met is neglecting his own health. I mean, seriously, monitor your fucking blood sugar. (Now back to me) I am constantly hit on, degraded and objectified … not because people are assholes, but because I am a bartender and that is part of the job… Yeah. I serve a purpose and get paid decent money for it, but I am eye-candy with alcohol, but I get to listen to the problems of the miserable and be the only woman who is nice to the decent married guys who are super grateful for a woman who isn’t constantly cutting them down.
It sucks, but that is my job. I have some heavy hitting professional skills, and a degree in a STEM field, but I need the freedom of a blue collar, part-time-ish job. So, I work a pitiful, but high paying, if not psychologically difficult ‘unskilled labor” job to serve middle class assholes who think I am not smart enough to do anything else. If you could just stop looking down on me, that would be great. Meanwhile, Rock Star wasn’t the only one who stood me up Saturday night. …
Only three times in my life have I felt the “Disneyland-fireworks-heart-stopping” biology of That Guy. I am 45 years old, so that’s saying a LOT about him. I am that bitch. I planned on spending the night with That Guy after doing a friend-date with Rock Star. RS flaked out on me (because, again, he can’t manage his own health issues) and I texted That Guy that I was available earlier than expected. I was totally willing to make arrangements to stay up there – fifty miles from home – but TG told me he would “be out really late”.. so I drove home.
Got to the house to see on social media that TG was at the bar where I work TEN FUCKING MINUTES after I left. I unfriended both of them. Fuck off, good bye, hasta la never think I will speak of you (or to you again). Meanwhile, I cried my ass off all day Sunday and Monday. I cried for RS that he could have a beautiful life, but won’t even care for himself… I cried about TG because… Oh, God, That Guy… The asshole that I wanted more than anything to want me back.
While I was having my meltdown, Track Star did this: On the heels of getting the Gold in track – four medals in all four of her events at State – this child took on a second job. Nah, she didn’t get The Gold in all four events, but she kicked ass. The day after State Track was over, not one, but TWO coaches call me because since she is a Junior in High School, it is now ‘legal’ to recruit her. If $100 dropped out of the sky right now, I would go to the grocery store to buy food, but my Track Star needs new shoes and she knows I can’t buy them for her so she is earning the money herself. My kid is paying for her own future because I can’t.
So Track Star got a second job…. She now works for three bucks an hour at her “other’ job. So here is her schedule: Six AM – weights/conditioning; Volleyball Camp 8 to 11:30; Work from 11:30 to 3 ish; VB walk through until about 4:30… work from 5 to 7 then VB games until about 9…… Wash; Rinse; Repeat. Every day. Every. Fucking Day. No wonder she cries herself to sleep.
I can’t help her. I just have to watch and let her make her own way. At this point, she is a room mare that I pay car insurance for and make sure that there are tampons and TP in the house. It sucks and I am proud of what she is accomplishing all on her own. Being a single mom sucks, and I am a terrible provider when it comes to material things, but I must be doing something right – or at least well enough to not have POS kids.
Which brings me to #2…. She is working off a serious ankle injury and working full time while living with my Sis and her Hubs in another state. My gawd, this kid is putting in 50-70 hours watching other peoples’ kids. The parents love her – even the ones who totally coddle their kids and cater to their every whim. As a babysitter, my kid is the one who will laugh at the pampered brats and tell them to STFU and move on, but she makes good money and she is LOVED. Her stories from work will curdle milk….but the kids she cares for love her because she provides the only structure they have. I am so proud.
Number Three….It is a miracle I haven’t murdered this kid yet. The older two have covered for her for the last 11 years, and now she has to step up. It isn’t going well. It is hard for her to give up her role as the baby of the family. She is home alone most of the time and has to learn how to do chores alone. This Summer will be a hard one for her, but I think that it will be a good learning experience for her – at least, I hope so.
But, then again, I hope for lots of things that will never ever happen.
Welcome to the life of a single mom who never intended to be one.
I begin each day asking myself what drives me to want to reach out to others. I try so hard to identify the reasons that I am driven to offer myself up as an example when I could easily wallow in self-pity and swim in fear of the next minute, hour or day, I finally came to the realization that, “I am easy to find.” You can see why here. Despite my best efforts at being an anonymous Victim, that is the Truth. Unlike the dude in the video, it isn’t a challenge to him, rather an admission to myself that hiding isn’t serving who I am as a Person.
I wasted far too much time taking bad advice from people with good intentions and hiding from the inevitable reality of his release. As it turns out, drowning in that sea of fear and denial was a blessing. It gave me time to prepare for my decision to make my story public. I have grown stronger over the past few years and I am now prepared to fight for others who face their own personal Hell. Even as I prepare for the next phase of protecting myself and my children I am preparing to do battle in a much larger arena. All of the times of denial, anger, fear, bargaining and depression had a value to me, personally, and now, I want that time in the depths of my personal hell to benefit others. I refuse to be destroyed, and I want to do my best to make sure others have the chance, not to live, but to Survive.
As I came to realize I wanted to share my story and talk about the challenges I have faced over the last … well… over a decade now, I decided my first step was to become a volunteer for a local Crisis Center that assists domestic violence victims. I have worked with one of their Directors for over eight years now so she knows me well. Once again, I was confronted with a harsh reality. The woman that I respect and trust broke the news to me that, while she believed I was “safe”, I wasn’t considered ‘safe enough’ to assist others.
Since I don’t meet the established standards for acting as a volunteer to mentor others in similar situations (12 months threat-free) – it was suggested that I seek counseling to have ‘a professional’ make sure I wouldn’t re-traumatize myself in my quest to gain the credentials to assist others. My counselor is Kyrie, and she kicks ass. I already knew some of the steps I would have to take to start this new portion of my journey through life, but having Kyrie to give me some accountability is the cure for my hesitation.
My first assignment was not only to write, but to concentrate on tackling some of my beliefs head on. Keep in mind, I am not seeing a “shrink” because I have issues in my life, it is because a person I know and respect wants me to protect myself, cherish the progress I have already made, and prepare for a new phase of life. All of that while I am facing the release of the person who wanted me to die – and (written by his own hand, still does).
The time is coming. Slowly, surely, steadily….So now here is what I think of Jason. I know he is coming eventually. Yes. He will come after me…. so, here (hopefully, not for posterity’s sake) what I think of him:
What kind of man would steal life from the mother of his children???
Imagine the thrill of this demon as he planned my death the first time around. Imagine the depravity of a person who spent at least SIX months acting like my best friend all because he knew in his mind and heart that he had secured an end to my life but he was playing the role of ‘good father’ to his children until he got to send my soul to heaven while splattering my body across any adjacent structure.
I wish his soul was tortured for his acts, but it isn’t. From the depths of whatever hell it is to be in prison, he is there now delighting in planning his next move. He is a slave of his own depraved mind with no regard for his own children or any other good and decent person in the world. Not only have I forgiven him, but I pity him for every breath he takes.
Even when he is released, he will still be in prison – one of his own design and no doubt, he will find it delightful and even be more secure in the knowledge he now has some expert knowledge about where he went wrong the first time around. Meanwhile, The System he is in relentlessly strives to put me in prison, too. Only I am in control of my own release from Hell so I am speaking directly, and publicly about it now for the first time in a really personal way, because what do I have to lose?
My path to freedom begins with walking out of this cell and using the rest of my days as I choose to – helping others escape from Hell if it is at all in my power to do so. You see, the “Offenders” have many more right and protections than their Victims do once an arrest is made. The first thing that the cops say to someone they are arresting is, “You have the right to remain silent”… but, as most people will never realize, that is a protection for the criminals and a warning to the victims (and their survivors) to STFU.
Yeah, I know… The Law. Whatever. Here goes: There is a permanent Protective Order in place, but we all know it won’t stop a bomb or a bullet. He can come after me to finish what he started, but know this:
His future of redemption, and leading a life of respect and decency begins with doing the right thing and staying right there in the prison he made for himself – whether or not that is literally behind bars.
If he comes after me, he will face my wrath, and I will have the full backing of all God’s angels and all the demons of hell to bring against him. My children, my friends, my family, my neighbors, and every kind and decent person of my community will strive to make his life a living hell that makes time in prison look like a trip to Disneyland. He will never know the compassion and mercy that has been extended to me and to my daughters based on the suffering we now endure.
He will never know the thrill of seeing my Daughters achieve unimaginable goals and experiencing victories that most people will never know. Make no mistake, these children are mine and mine alone. I take no credit for their accomplishments, but I do take pride in them, and I deserve every second of it. I don’t ‘parent’ well, but I have moved both Heaven and Earth to remove negative issues so they can seek the Positive on their own, unencumbered by the shit storm their ‘father’ brought to our doorstep, AND THE SUBSEQUENT BULLSHIT BROUGHT ON BY THE CRIMINAL JUSTICE SYSTEM.
If there was a shred of a soul in that man or any remorse, he would willingly stay right where he is until he knew he was no longer a danger to anyone decent person in the world. I know what he has done, even from prison: writing letters to people, trying to commit more criminal acts to steal money I need to raise my daughters. I have copies of the letters, I know what he has said about me and what his goals are regarding my continued survival. I have tried to alert “the authorities” about his efforts, but they have all ignored me and are hell-bent on his release this time around.
Last year, I attempted to participate in the Victim/offender mediation program and it clearly didn’t go well. While he obviously knows the ‘right things’ to say to the parole board, he showed his true colors when surprised with a conversation by an advocate working on behalf of me and my children.
I was prepared to share with him all of their accomplishments – even pictures of them if he had shown a shred of remorse, but that will never happen now… See, these kids are my sources of pride, and I won’t give him any way to take pride in their achievements because while I desperately hoped that he had an interest in them, he didn’t. He never even inquired about their well being, he, did, however, focus on stating that he, ‘knows we are in Nebraska’… which, we are clearly NOT.
If and when he comes after me, all the people who know and love my daughters and I will recognize him by his blackened soul if not by the mug shots that everyone in town will have seen before he ever hits state line. He’s a coward, but a clever one and we all know he is coming, so Let Him. Come after me, please and be famous in a real bad way. The second he hits fresh air, people are watching out for me and mine. Violating conditions of release for one single second will make phones ring all over the country to protect me, his former Mistress and all of our children. It is clear, she is his first target, and while I have plenty of animosity towards her, I in no way wish death upon her and I have taken every available legal action within my reach to make sure she knows that He. Is. A. Threat.
I am above all else, a selfish asshole in this regard, in that I know when he figures out she has moved on… he will be all the more determined to take his frustration and disappointment out on me. She is a raging pile of shit, in my opinion, but, Bless Her Heart, she’s my canary in the coal mine.
He might believe that it is better to ask forgiveness than permission, but the people I work with aren’t going to let the Criminal Justice gag us on their bullshit or his anymore. Trust me when I say that no one who knows what I have been through will allow it to happen again either to myself or to anyone else that he believes has any shred of loyalty to you or respect for him. We are as safe now as we ever will be, and I will not stop talking about it until he shuts my mouth for good.
Just a few hours before corn planting was done (in most of the places that seriously grow your food)….
And came this:
and now, this. It is a one minute video of a town very close by. I will try to get up more pics soon. Stay safe and dry, folks!
Can we please stop berating people for being thin? The fervor over some fitness center’s ad is just completely out of hand. The one memorable line from this article about the ‘Beach Body’ ad is this,
And it didn’t take the SJWs [Social Justice Warriors] and feminists long to once again strap in to their high horses and go to war. Soon, the posters were being crudely vandalized to instead read, among other things, “You body is not a commodity”.
While that idea is Feminista and WhiteKnight lovely and politically correct and all…. Hate to break it to ya, but Your Body IS a Commodity.
No matter who you are or what you look like, your body – including your BRAIN – is up for sale. It doesn’t matter if you are male or female, your physical and intellectual attributes and abilities are Commodities. Politicians, and corporations see each and everyone of us as nothing more than a pile of beans or wheat or corn with no other purpose than to keep them profitable. You are going to work in some capacity to pay for your increasingly restricted existence if you have any intention at all of participating in society. Do it as a smoking hottie or as a fat-screechy-hairy feminist or as a keyboard warrior or a PUA or a nice, traditional family-person. It isn’t my business what you do or how you choose to conduct yourself as long as you don’t start making your choices and beliefs mandates that everyone else must follow.
Sadly, though, that is exactly what is happening. So, yeah, people forcing others to think, act, and behave in ways that make them feel “safe” is a gigantic distraction from actual danger and injustice. Big Important Issues(TM) like Bruce Jenner’s penis (or lack thereof) and the effectiveness of The Grapefruit Blowjob (NSFW) need to be addressed. Meanwhile, our society is turning into an over-flowing shit filled toilet and it isn’t because bakers everywhere are spontaneously causing shortages of Super-Gay Wedding Cakes.
Side Note: I am still baffled by this controversy. Good Lord, it’s food you will serve to your family and friends. Don’t you have some concept of what terrible outcome there could be when you have forced another person to prepare your food against their will??? Why wouldn’t you want to employ a person who is happy to serve you? Even more importantly, if you are so upset at being told “No” by a baker, you aren’t really emotionally equipped to breathe air, let alone be married. Grow. The. Fuck. Up. Not everyone agrees with your lifestyle.
It doesn’t mean you get to use Big Brother to punish them.(Yes, It Does, but only if you are Gay and the Baker is Christian – not the other way around.)
There are plenty of people who are really brilliant at explaining Mandrosphere ideals and how relationships are changing. Please go read this if you haven’t yet, Keoni totally nails it on that topic, so I am going to keep my skinny ass on my side of the barbed wire fence and tell you what is happening here in flyover country. Hint: it isn’t pretty.
people self-infantilized, misinformed carpet-walkers are caught up in manufactured controversies and all manner of trivial bullshit brought to you courtesy of the MSM and social media, there is a storm brewing that has the potential to guarantee that we are all well-and-truly-screwed for good. You can put away your tin foil hats for a few minutes – this isn’t about Operation Jade HELM (Homeland Elimination of Local Militants is the acronym – go google it – I don’t want to get sidetracked) It isn’t about the fracking earthquakes that are causing all sorts of environmentalist weeping and gnashing of teeth, either. Folks, your problem is that none of your silly drama matters at all when you don’t have food.
(Go to your safe place and eat your play dough and crayons if you don’t want to know about disgruntled country bumpkins.)
This. Even in light of the glaring misinformation in the article, the threat to your grocery cart is very real. First, let me clear up a few things:
Farmers pay no sales taxes on machinery and equipment, or on diesel fuel for agricultural equipment, computers, fertilizer, chemicals and seed. Even shampoo bought by a hairdresser for a “farm” client is exempt, according to the Kansas Department of Agriculture. There is much more, but you get the picture.
So take a look at the original article by Chapman Rackaway. He does a pretty fine job of explaining some of the things that I see happening here locally right now and makes it pretty clear why/how this is happening. Greedy city-SOBs want to have their cake and eat it, too, but that isn’t enough. They also want the people who worked the land to grow the ingredients for the cake to give it to them for free with a side-order of cash. Just like they did with the schools. Just like they are still doing now with the schools. There is a veritable fecal-hurricane taking place on fb over school funding cuts and the proposed farm legislation, which includes a 473% property tax increase. (That is not a typo.)
One local fb commenter put it this way:
Farmers and teachers. Two professions trampled in the dirt, who get paid NOT according to their societal worth, and yet do it anyways, because it must be done. And God made a farmer, indeed.
Without getting too deeply into the political forces at work here it is in a nutshell from the Rackaway article (the accurate one of the two newspaper story links above):
Perhaps that explains why the Legislature has gone from trying to keep the west in Kansas to showing it the door. Two bills, one already passed, the other pending, would have massive adverse effects on the state’s breadbasket. The bill that has passed, HB2403, dumps the 1992 school funding formula in favor of block grants. While the block grants would potentially hurt some other schools to the east of I-135, the western half of the state looks to take a disproportional hit.
The result is that early school closings in western Kansas, such as Concordia, will likely be followed with more early closings and even consolidations. The beating hearts of western Kansas communities…may well be stopped.
So why on earth should you give a damn about our school funding disaster and bills designed to kill family farms? Unless you have escaped the need to eat this is going to screw you over, too. To begin with, the schools are the canary in the coal mine. The school my kids attend isn’t one of the districts that have shortened the school year, but they have decided to lay off nearly every “para” (the educators that do not hold licenses). Just like that. nearly thirty percent of the staff is gone. Transportation to events and for after school activities, also gone. Some of our students (again, not specific to our district) are already forced to ride the bus for over two hours per day just to attend classes, now their parents are going to have to spend more time, and more money to get their kids to and from activities. So, hey, just take some more of you hard-earned cash and drive an extra fifty or sixty miles twice a day so your kids can play ball or join the debate team… no big deal, right?
Before you start screaming “home school” consider that our schools aren’t like urban schools. Sports, FFA, and other extra-curricular activities fill the void that comes with living in a rural community. Our public schools are really pretty dang close to home-school already. Since parents have to work to pay their taxes, very few have the time or ability to adequately educate their kids at home, so, right-or-wrong, public schools are important to us. These aren’t the zero-tolerance/zero-common-sense indoctrination centers that we all love to hate. As the schools are forced to consolidate, it isn’t just less convenient, it takes away more and more of the tax base and that money has to come from somewhere, and while you can’t get blood from a stone, you can get more tax money out of the dirt. So, Farmers.
Even more disturbing and damaging for the west is SB 178, which would raise agricultural land property taxes by a statewide average of 473 percent. With the majority of farmland in the state to the west, the actual hit would be even higher. Many farmers are land-rich and cash-poor, so paying five times higher taxes could be fatal to many western Kansas farms.
What’s it to you if a bunch of farmers lose their asses and their livelihoods via government sponsored theft? Well, that means that the real big boys – the mega corporate conglomerations and foreign investors will take up the void. They generally don’t pay taxes anyway so, rather than adding to the tax base, it will likely decrease the already inadequate state revenue. Even if that isn’t the outcome, it will take away even more diversity and completely remove the stewards of the land from the decision making process.
Still don’t get it? Let me walk you through it, slowly. A traditional family farming operation (even the incorporated, mid-level guys) has people who make decisions on a daily basis that ensure the land is cared for properly. The wildlife buffer zones (a/k/a conservation belts), the crop diversity, the settings on the equipment, the timing of planting and harvest, the hiring of their own help, all rest on the common sense and experience of these family farmers. They live or die by their own choices, and they can respond to market forces with complete autonomy. They are intimately connected with the land and dedicated to providing food for your table and theirs. If you suppose that none of that changes when all the land is controlled by a few corporate giants, you are fooling yourself.
Locally, we see it happening already. A large Co-Op is eating up little independent elevators all over this region. Having prices set locally by each elevator, hiring employees without college degrees, farmers having input and control over the services they need. Poof. Gone. You have to have a degree to work at the elevator now. The corporate farms are the same way. Decisions are made by someone a couple hundred miles away and no amount of experience will get a person hired because The Corporate Office determined only college graduates may be employed. Not high school kids, not the guys who have already given up their family farms. College Graduates Only. If you don’t pay your way through four years of school, you don’t even get to sweep the floor.
Now, imagine what will happen when the family farmers are gone. If some carpet-walker decides that only one type of corn will be grown. That’s that. If conditions vary from one field or pasture to another, too bad. The guy who is actually working the land can’t even access the person who could make a change, and policies take months to change. Plants and animals don’t wait around for months while The Board of Directors contemplates a change. The destruction of traditional family values is small potatoes compared to the devastation of family owned farms. Once the dude in the tractor is some low-paid employee whose only function is to punch a clock and keep his mouth shut, we all have bigger problems than gay wedding cakes and bitchy feminists.
So we are back to the beginning, You are a commodity whose very existence has been purchased by a hostile takeover. Government, corporations, and whatever mysterious scary forces you believe are in control have reduced you to a slave to be bought and sold on the open market. You must pay and pay and pay. College, taxes, insurance, more taxes, higher food prices, more and more laws and rules to keep you feeding the big corporate money making machines…everything you do, everywhere you go, fewer choices, less personal control over everything. Just keep your mouth shut and follow the rules. If someone wants your opinion, they will make a law telling you what it should be.
Meanwhile, feminists everywhere should be celebrating because they finally got something half right. They really have been objectified, but then again, so have the rest of us. It isn’t going to change until enough people are tired of being little tax-paying hunks of meat. Now, where is that Safe Place??? I want to go there, too!!!
I was minding my own business when I came across this Pinterest board. About halfway down it turns from some nifty DIY eye candy into MRA meme heaven. Check it out!
Such lovely sentiments as the following are there.
A great place to get pics to add some pzazz to your blog posts – what a thoughtful pinner!
As if today wasn’t frustrating enough on the heels (the, pretty, pretty high heels) of yesterday’s tirade, I had to come home to this bullshit. I am left with no choice other than to dive into the shallow feminist thought-pool and hope it snaps my neck and I die thinking happy Red Pill thoughts. (Unless some hot, male lifeguard is there to rescue me.) Also, get it??? She took away my choice!!!! Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
“…I have a very “special” place in my heart for Pick Up Artists.”
Her profile pic says otherwise. What is that look? Bitchy-Duck-Face-ManHater??? Look-Seductively-at-the-Camera-While-Peeing-on-the-Rug-to-Mark-Territory???? Oh dear…She took on RooshV
“I admire Roosh V’s commitment to absolute ignorance and stupidity.”
Plenty of admiration to go around, Lauren. I admire the same thing about you. I
always thought was brainwashed into believing that feminists were very intellectual and had the brains to use the opposing arguments of others to inform their own opinions in order to affect some sort of level playing field. Unparalleled commitment. Brilliant. Everyone, absolutely everyone wants Commitment from another person. (***As long as they are committed to unconditional support of every stupid though we have, the second we have it, while simultaneously enabling us to live out our fantasies, in a life of ease and clean laundry and an unlimited budget.)
In February of 2015, Roosh V proposed the decriminalization of rape on private property. His theory was rooted in the assertion that women would take better precautions and, “protect her body in the same manner that she protects her purse and smartphone.” As a result, Roosh V claims that, “After several months of advertising this law throughout the land, rape would be virtually eliminated on the first day it is applied.”
I agree with the following stipulation: The the persons on the property have knowledge of their location and/or were present by consent of both parties. In other words, if your are at “your place” or someone else’s place, or hotel room, or not otherwise in the middle of a public place like the center of a freeway or on the sidewalk and you have put yourself in the position of being overwhelmed by physical force or even the later-regetable charms of another person, then who is to blame for that??? You, sista, you alone.
Before you go throwing stones, consider this:
The rest of the time, I am a contractor. I am constantly on Private Property, surrounded by rapey-scary Men. Yet, all the people involved are able to contain themselves.
I work for men. I work with men. I hire men, I fire men. Agreements are reached. WE consult. WE negotiate. WE fight. WE get along. WE gossip. We drink beer together.
No one’s genitals or credentials are called into question without good reason. Comments like, “You’re a pussy” and, “Grow a set” are pretty universal and no one ever stops working long enough to take offense. In fact, if harmless banter like that offends you, chill the Fuck out – you aren’t working hard enough to earn your pay if you have time to be offended at petty bullshit like that.
It seems, really, really odd , that a preeminent feminist, in the midst of a letter to the most, terrible, scary, awful, misogynist, known to the world today, Would say, this:
There are laws now, Roosh. They are made by powerful, important men and women who are appalled at the way women are treated by men like you. Although you can’t put a ban on words, you may find that a lot of powerful people have such an aversion to that word that they are flagging individuals who use such terms in their literature. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be flagged and monitored by any government for hate mongering, would you, Roosh?
On, that note, I volunteer as Tribute.
And speaking of laws, Roosh, no one with a brain thinks that decriminalizing rape is a good idea. In fact, you may find that the vast percentage of the population, both men and women, prefer consensual sex to non-consensual sex.
I, for one, don’t mind this attitude even a little bit. It will save me from having to raise pregnant teenage daughters or some random, ill-selected offspring. I also think that drugs should be decriminalized and stop signs are unnecessary.Anyone out there that thinks human beings will suddenly run rampant without regulations to stop rape, murder and mayhem is ill-informed at best. I live in the rootin’-tootin’ (recently declared) concealed-carry state of Kansas and the blood in the streets is only ankle-deep after a hard rain.
If a burglar is on the loose in your neighborhood, you make sure, extra sure, to lock your doors or protect valuable objects. Why would you oppose the removal of laws that encourage you to protect your own body in the same way? Just place yourself farther out of harm’s way. Normal people want consensual SEX. Is this your special epiphany? It isn’t polite conversation to talked about a person who had to be bound-and-gagged to “want it”….is that what you think will happen if you aren’t protected by The Law? Why are you putting yourself in that position in the first place? Why would you even want The Right to be legally protected from stupid choices as a Thinking Human Being????
“…maybe make a video about “those crazy feminists” and protest that you are too busy and too important to step up to such an arduous task”
Yes…. Roosh V…. Pick Me!!!! Pick Me!!!! Really? Sounds more like crappy FSOG dialogue than admonition…..But, then again, that is just my humble opinion as a woman who isn’t raped every single day because People.
Oh, Damn. Now the femists feel, “Unsafe“. Probably better quit while I am ahead.