Okay, One-Percenters, happy to oblige: First I’ll tax you, then
I’ll redistribute your
wealth to someone more worthy,
then I’ll feel sorry for the pathetic mommies and daddies who anointed your self-involved,
ungrateful, dreadlocked little heads with the oil of love and luxury so they
could end up listening to you repeat anti-Semitic imprecations like a Nazi
mob and watching you turn the New York City streets into a toilet.
If only someone had spent one percent of his or her time smacking
you upside the head—figuratively speaking, of course—before sending you off with
your Rosa Luxemburg lunch boxes to Elisabeth Irwin
and then on to Yale . . . oh, I don’t know . . . maybe Zucotti Park,
Congress
Plaza, the Rose
Kennedy Greenway, Woodruff
Park, et al., wouldn’t be starting to look so much like Haight Ashbury after the Summer
of Love, when flocks of homeless, infected, trippin’, psychotic trust-fund babies staggered into the
Free Clinic to get their weekly dose of penicillin and thorazine.
No comments:
Post a Comment