Several years ago, a good pal and I were breakfasting at The Way Station. He was about as high up the Santa Clarita Valley political food chain as you can climb, and, bonus, filled with terrible monkey business. Of all things to discuss, we chatted about: Flipping The Bird.
You know.
Key to your mother’s chastity belt?
Wife’s IQ?
Actually, we were discussing about NOT flipping the Next To The Ring Finger Salute. Being alleged community leaders, we didn’t have the luxury of waving fists at imbeciles who purposely cut us off in traffic nor offering threatening loud mouths with the 20% of a wave. That’s so unfair. You’d think after all the hard work we banked in becoming community leaders that the least society could do would be to allow us to metaphorically slap the peasants.
While you build character counting to 10, you lose it right back in dental bills grinding your molars. Which at least is better than grinding other people’s molars.
Around 2 B.C. (Before Covid), Santa Clarita held one of those obligatory yuppie virtue-signaling whoo-hoo fests. Grandmothers to toddlers were lining the SCV intersections, holding signs about how certain lives are much better than other certain lives and if you thought otherwise, you were some kind of “ist.”
I think I may have skipped 12 spaces in line for Heaven. Stuck at the light, one older guy with a white gladiator beard LEANED ON MY TRUCK and pressed a poster against the windshield. Like the eccentric scientist in the 1957 film, “The Fly,” I had to grab the bad deformed bug wrist with the good, non-deformed angelic hand and force it onto my lap before a wandering digit went “boy-yoy-yoy-yoy-YOING!!” and poked a hole in the ozone layer, followed by climbing out of the car with a hockey stick, dropping my chore gloves and asking, with an unaccustomed Canadian accent, “Ehhh! Doughnut boy! You wanna go!!”
Speaking of. Haven’t heard from the Left lately. How is that ozone layer? And what’s with the “inconvenient” increase in polar bear population? Doesn’t the latter get the Al Gore Monthly Newsletter — $159.95 per?
Read with interest this week that Shaun King bought himself a $40,000 dog. Shaun’s an activist, which pays really fat money these days. Shaun’s an organizer and fundraiser. With some of the funds, the good Georgia pastor King bought this year’s AKC champion mastiff to serve as his guard dog.
That’s $40,000. For one dog on steroids.
Because I’m guessing 3,700 deranged pit bull/Chupacabra mix at $11 per would be a smidge gaudy.
King used political action committee donations to pay for the übermutt.
Now this is not remotely the first time the social justice movement has made national headlines. Earlier this year, Black Lives Matter leader Melina Abdullah and two other execs from the nonprofit took $6 million to buy an upscale Los Angeles estate.
Another BLM exec, Patrice Cullors, was a bit humbler, doing The Lord’s Work. She spent just $3.2 million from charitable donations for four homes for herself.
Poor Pitiful Patrice.
Days before the purchase, Patrice noted she “…was in survival mode.” Hate that when it happens. You’re flirting with homelessness and can only afford four luxury homes instead of maybe six or seven. The Internet was awash with photos of Cullors and other charity execs, posing by expensive cars and sipping champagne.
Stinks of vile corruption?
Sigh. I’m reminiscing. I was whisked back in time, of stopping at that red light at the Valencia intersection, with all the virtue-signaling locals screaming the latest “Attica!” along with braindead chants and posters. Those donations many of them sent? Are our SCV social justice woke warriors included on the titles to the BLM mansions? Better? Are any of the downtrodden they supposedly represent at least getting a decent roast beef sandwich and Dr. Pepper from the nearly $100 million in donations from 2020 alone?
It would be nice if they were. Cullors got a deal on one of her houses — six bedrooms, pool, 6,500 square feet, parking for 20.
Pastor King returned his $40,000 Hound of the Baskervilles because it was “…too much dog for the family.” Like a mile-long trail of toilet paper dangling from his shoe heel, King has been long followed by fraud charges. Among many accusations: King was hosting fundraisers for Tamir Rice, a Cleveland child killed by police. Small, annoying problem? Tamir’s mother noted the fundraisers in her son’s name were unauthorized. King just paid a $30,000 fine to Philadelphia for falsifying income on a campaign of a Philly district attorney candidate. King claims to receive no salary for his work. Yet, his net worth is estimated at more than $1 million yearly.
Or, 25 unmanageable Mastiff show hounds.
Next insufferable Santa Clarita yuppie fake social justice protest, I shall take the high road.
I shan’t offer to display a centrally located digit.
The next corner dance to celebrate the end of civilization, there’ll be another self-righteous liberal with a distorted face who will get in front of my car. They’ll hoist a protest sign: “SCV Liberals Must Free Vicious Show Dogs!!”
At $40,000 a pooch.
I won’t honk.
But, I’ll raise a fist in support, offering a hearty: “Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Ruffffggggrrrr!!”
Anything to raise awareness…
John Boston is a local writer. Visit more of his works at johnbostonbooks.com.
