Monday, August 21, 2017

August 21, 2017

Dear Diary,

It's been a real trip down memory lane for me lately, with everyone out in the streets protesting whatever they can think of just to get attention all kinds of social justice causes. It's almost like the sixties. In my younger days, we protested just about anything we thought would get us out of class advance our liberal agenda. If it wasn't racial issues, it was women's rights or something like that. It all depended on the weather, because nobody enjoyed marching in the rain when all you'd end up with was a soaked poncho. The best demonstrations were on hot, sunny days, when young, supple girls wore really short, tight dresses the news media would show up to report on them.

Back in those days, we weren't paid to show up had serious reasons for public demonstrations.  We donated out time and our parents' money to object to the systematic discrimination that plagued America at that time. For example, bars used to engage in a practice called "Ladies Night," where they'd waive the cover charge for women who showed up on Tuesday nights between 5 and 7 PM. I remember making out joining with a really cute Women Studies major other women to shut down the bar to all non-women on Tuesdays. We had a good reason, but I forget what it was. Frankly, in those days the protests were good but the acid was even better.

Nowadays, it seems all anyone wants to do is tear down statues and label everything racist, but I'm not quite ready to remove the lawn jockey from our front lawn just yet. It was really expensive serves to remind us all about the demeaning manner in which darker Americans were treated in a different time. Of course, our little guy is dressed like a stable boy from the nineteenth century, which was a very long time ago, so I have to wonder what difference does it make? Besides, if we removed it, where would we put it? We can't sell it on EBay. The shipping costs would kill us.

Maybe it's time all the peasants everyone just settled down for a time out. I know that when I get agitated, Dr. Morell whips out the needle and starts pumping Librium on my picc line. Calms me right down. It wouldn't have to be obvious. They could just drop it into the water supply. They do it with fluoride all the time.

I think it's Monday. Bessie had better have strained the pits out of the orange juice or I swear I'm going to have her deported.

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