Saggy pants: political protest

Saggy pants: political protest

A manifestation of discontentment is sweeping the nation. With the recent economic crisis – unprecedented foreclosure and massive job loss – politically proactive teens are experimenting with visual aids to express their distaste toward the situation. One such idea is to use a flag at half mast, which symbolizes a fallen soldier and apply it to the falling nation; many high school age teens felt that this was an appropriate symbol to showcase their grievances towards the bad political and economic decisions made in the recent years. However, traveling with a flag would be quite tedious; forced to improvise these talented teens found a simple solution: wear their pants at half-mast.
Upon closer inspections this is a glorious idea. It is a protest of the most discreet nature, barely noticeable but of a high visual appeal. The teens are speaking out from behind the scenes. With president Obama’s economic stimulus plan at the front of the solution, these teens are able to bring an arousal for change from the rear. These shame-free adolescents are forfeiting all caboose privacy for the sake of exposing problems with our nation as well as their underwear.
This protest has gained recognition all over the nation, top to bottom. People have even begun to notice trends in who participates in the great pant drop. Generally speaking, young men are very active in the protest; they feel it is their way to stand behind the change that needs to happen in the U.S. It has also been noted that the pant-drop length is directly proportional to the disgust the individual feels toward the slipping economy.
We as citizens must commend these selfless group of teens. Their exposure has led us to realize the lack of spare money we have in this country, as well as a lack of belts. Their persistence also deserves applause; they bare it all types of weather, showing their Fruit of the Loom to increase the fruitfulness of our nation. They are heroes in their own right, and they are sure to go down in history as the highly successful “almost pant- less” protest. Every time America looks at a young man’s boxers, America is reminded to spend and stimulate the economy. These teens are waddling billboards and reminders that it is the people who can overcome these saggy, low points in life.
The teens realize that their protest has evolved from revealing boxers and bad politics to becoming pillars of hope and prosperity for the country. They will continue to show their collections of flames, flags, hearts, and assorted cartoon characters until the federal deficit reaches a surplus. The Pant Warriors will not cease. As hourly wages get cut, the pants will drop lower. Nothing will deter them from their steadfast nature; they will bare it, crack and all, until the problem is resolved. So be assured America, your constant reminders are going to stick around until things get better. While we are low in income their pants will be low as well; the only thing high around here will be unemployment.




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It is funny how sometimes we find ourselves doing the same things in life but for different reasons. For example, this morning Tom is sick. He has been sick for the last couple of days, he even had a decent fever. It is now 8:23 in the morning on Sunday in January 2015. Normally we would be walking up the cement sidewalk to church right now, sitting next to his family and talking to Jim, the sharply dressed widower who sits in front of us whom I admire greatly. But instead of having pleasant yet twanged with sadness conversations with Jim I am here doing an array of chores. I let the dog out, fed the dog, put a log in the fire, put away clean dishes, put dirty dishes in the sink, took the trash out, let the dog out again, and did a load of laundry. Not that any of these are awful or hard tasks, and I wasn’t made to do them, I wanted to. I volunteered. I wasn’t even asked. But no mind the matter of household chores, because everyone does that. The real point of my ramblings is that I was quite when I did it, I was silent with my voice and careful and slow with all of my movements.
Setting the dishes daintily on top of each other so they only made a soft “clink………
Closing the door in stages so all you heard was the air being pushed out of the frame. I cracked our bedroom door just so the heat could still get in but enough that he would be blocked from all unnecessary sound; especially that from dear young pup who doesn’t always heed the silent advice. I was meticulous, every move I made was calculated with the sole intention of not waking Tom and letting him sleep. I did it out of love. I was happy even, with a smile on my face, glad that he could hopefully sleep his sickness away.

But I had done all these things before; for a different reason. At 7:16 nearly every Saturday and Sunday I lived with him and mom.
I had set the dishes on top of each other so daintily that all you heard was a soft “clink………..
I had closed the door slowly that all you heard was the air coming out of the frame.
I had tip-toed across the floorboards, toes to heel, pretending I was a stealthy Indian so I didn’t make noise even when walking.
I had closed the bedroom door fully, holding my breath as I pushed it into the lock centimeter by centimeter.
I was meticulous, every move I made was calculated, with the sole intention of not waking dad up so he would stay asleep.
And not yell, and scream, and call me stupid, and throw things, and yell some more, and have this mad, ravenous eyes.
I was motivated by fear; for he was a snarling wolf seeking to devour you if you disturbed his den, his sleeping habits, any of his habits.
Right he was to want to stay asleep, not right to snarl, snap, bite, claw, maim you if you did. The Indian learned to stay away from the wolf, my sneakiness lead to my survival.
Eventually, I got away from that wolf den, that ominous house that should have been loving but instead sent me running. Loudly.

The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same. I am still that stealthy Indian; I do it well, I’ve had the practice. The silence is loving now, calculated by how best to serve and not how best to survive. Yet all the more still: silent.

A Coming and going Rhyme

O what, O what, O what, do you say
To someone who is going away?
Do you bid them farewell
Say have a nice day
Reminisces about O’l times
Take a walk by the bay?
After all they are just leaving
Not going astray
will be back in time
Not a permeant stay
But still all the more you wish to say
The right words to someone who is going away
Perhaps there are none
No words will suffice
Just break the silence
Just say something nice
For something o something is better to say
Than nothing to someone who is going away
And in due time they will find their way
Back to a place called home and they’ll stay
Finally, you will know what words to say
When they are back here with you
On a different today108_0250

Midnight homecoming: or coming home from college at a pequilar late hour

It’s the most pequilar thing walking into a house late at night.
But the strangeness occurs before you even step inside
You push your car door open normally, as there is no need to be quite in the company of crickets
And you shut it normally not in fear of disturbing coons
You can’t help but to slowly take a large gulp of midnight air, because out here is a much different world then inside.
Your first signs of tentativeness begin with the steps, you place your feet lightly, anticipating the creaks, and get off them as soon as you stepped on them.
You see that the porch light is on, a thoughtful gesture to you, a gesture which you have not returned by coming home at a time when it would not be needed.
You turn that doorknob ever so slowly and gently, and attempt to mask the sucking sound the door makes when your new life intersects your old one.
You block out your memories of today as you shut the door, carefully this time, as not to disturb those that love you.
You take off your shoes for barefoot simplicity
But whoops,
Your unintended, unnanouned, presence into the midnight lives of others is distrubted by your unawareness to a new flower arrangement placed by the hallway
Something you didn’t know was there, because you were not around to witness it’s rearagment
You pick this up quickly and quitly, and your homecoming goes along without further incident
You go to bed all by yourself
Because that’s what you wanted

First blog post- what i have learned in 23 years

For what it is worth, here is what I have learned in 23years:
-Going after your dreams is not just spending time on them, or committing to them, being passionate about them, it is about CHOOSING them. When you are younger it is easier to chase something because no aspect of life gets in the way, however, as we grow older and the world becomes the onion we never knew it to be, with many layers each circling deeper than the others we realize that to do the things we want we often have to do other things that we DON’T want to do in order to make it happen, we have to choose between the things we need equally, we have to fight to make dreams happen when reality wants to stomp them
-Not all your friends will be there forever plain and simple, you can count the number of GOOD friends you have one hand, any more than that and you are delusional…

-The role that you fill, your friends fill, your parents fill all changes as you and your life changes, the sooner this is accepted the easier it is. The phrase “you’ll understand when your older” is really true

-Coffee just gets better… and more expensive