They tell you that the matters are unrelated, and they may be. But you unfortunately have a tendency to view things in a vacuum.
The United States president wants to spend a billion dollars for Texas-based companies to go to Mars. The president also wants to spend another billion taxpayer dollars on promoting marriage.
In ultra-wealthy San Diego, where the median home price has surged past $400,000, the San Diego City Schools board cuts $21 million from its budget.
Twenty-one million goes into one billion more than forty-seven times. That means that about two percent of what will be spent “promoting marriage” could cover the cuts in San Diego schools.
Math is your new thing, you tell a friend. For instance, did you know that nearly 200,000 more people died at Hiroshima than were murdered out at the World Trade Center? That’s Sept. 11 happening 66 times to equal one Aug. 6.
When you check your portfolio, the BA symbol, you forget that the Hiroshima bomb fell from a Boeing plane. Talk about an ex-dividend date.
You say, my marriage is fine. Or, I like being single just fine. I enjoy being a successful, tax-paying homosexual, and I want to get married, too. But your “healthy” marriage doesn’t apply to me. You don’t like who I love.
You imagine a gay revolution, the Geffens and Dillers shuttering their businesses and leading the army to put such a conversation to rest. You absorb us from the advertising machine, laugh how we know more about clothes than you, but you in the heartland won’t allow us our unions?
How dare you.
Unscrew the cap on that bottle, Albert’s school just lost four teachers and their Internet connection today. They don’t have any means to support an athletic environment that provides the coveted after-school alternative.
Fuck you, drinking doesn’t solve the problem. It certainly doesn’t make it any worse. This isn’t our world. Look at our skin, our tax brackets.
We are the disenfranchised. I’ll take their damn liquor and put myself to sleep with it. We can’t rise up anymore because it’s too expensive and uncomfortable for those who could lead us.
This bottle’ll take me to Mars. The hell with getting married, I’m getting fucked up.