The big, above-the-fold, one-inch headline on my local paper this morning is moaning about the fact that our military casualties are disproportionately from the rural areas of the country. Oakland has not lost a single soldier in the last year while Tracy has lost three. Three soldiers from San Francisco have died compared to 20 from Stockton. Berkeley hasn't lost any, but a couple of Marines have been threatened. On Shattuck Ave. The point of the article, I think, is that it's not fair that so many of those people out in flyover country are getting killed so we should just stop fighting and come home. Incidentally, 'flyover country' begins in Walnut Creek; they should just put a sign up at the end of Hwy. 24 that says "Here there be Tygers."
The cities of San Francisco and Berkeley and the county of Marin are mostly populated by the people who were run out of every decent community in the rest of the country. Many act as though their crowning achievement in life was to move here. The local news calls this place "the best place on Earth." No lie. When do you suppose was the last time the Bay Aryans cared about what happens to other, lesser people? They think forcing you to recycle accomplishes something and that observing Cinco de Mayo, the Mexican Arbor Day, means they embrace other cultures. Plus it shuts the help up.
Maybe the people in Tracy and Stockton and Modesto and Antioch care more about this country than people in Oakland or Kensington or Palo Alto. Maybe "rural" people (Stockton's a university town, btw) don't sit around and wait for stuff to happen to them. Maybe they know about good and evil and have no concept of "situational ethics," or they believe in The Truth rather than 'their truth.' Either way, they're protecting SF's butts (which is more than they'll ever do) and making it possible for the menopausal acidheads of Berkeley to stomp their tiny feet and cry for the camera. I only wish we could deport citizens.
About Me
- A.G. Clifton
- Miss Clifton was born in the back seat of a Greyhound bus rolling down Highway 21. The only child of itinerant grifters, she supplemented her family's meager income through faking food poisoning and stepping in front of cars. Later in life she discovered a talent for Faith healing. She toured the continent healing people named Faith. Along the way she met and married her son's father, but sadly, the two parted ways after she discovered what he actually meant by "animal husbandry." Miss Clifton lives in an abandoned railroad shed on the outskirts of town where she pursues her life's work of constructing the world's largest ball of aluminum foil. Donations cheerfully accepted.