He’s fifty, he lost his job three years ago, he won’t ever have a job again because American companies don’t hire
the long-term unemployed parasites. He wakes up Sunday mornings now, with no way to hold his head that doesn’t hurt. And the beer he has for breakfast isn’t bad, so he has one more for dessert. Then he fumbles through his closet for his clothes, and finds his cleanest dirty shirt, and stumbles down the stairs to meet the day.
Meet the day, parasite. Welcome to the Brave New World of the Wall Street Gods, welcome to the Shock Doctrine Century, welcome to hunger games and drones in the sky and batshit ten feet deep in the halls of Congress. Get ready to dodge bullets when you walk out the door, the NRA has turned America into a free fire zone, remember to salute the Job Creators and the police, bring three forms of photo ID if you’re going to cross the street. Bring some courage along if you have any left, but leave your dignity behind, you won’t need it out here, hardly anyone in this shit storm that used to be America even remembers what it is anymore.