I went to the protest Saturday. Meant to do a little photo essay. It's a lot harder than Zombietime makes it look. The hippies just wouldn't hold still. Didn't see anything that insane. This is Los Angeles, not Berkeley. And there were cops everywhere. But I got a few interesting shots.
I call this guy "Chinpubes". His t-shirt has a "No War" slogan over a picture of Marxist murderer Che Gueverra. I wonder if he was born without the ability to perceive irony, or if he lost it in some sort of accident. It's also an example of what I call "GAY for Che". I swear all these wankers have man crushes on the revolutionary thug. They fall asleep dreaming of his beard tickling the back of their necks. Well, you get the idea.
Actually, that's an idea that I would rather not get.
Nothing says "look at me, I'm a superior being" like a Che shirt and "don't hire me" facial hair.
Every day I am compelled to wonder how these mentally inverted bozoids manage to get out of bed in the morning (or early afternoon) without severely injuring themselves. Folks who feel that regimes that routinely practice mass slavery and mass murder are morally superior to civil societies that are based on the principle of consent are bound to have severe difficulty with systems that are more mechanically complicated than floors, walls, and nonpowered doors.
This fellow is going to have severe difficulty in finding a job without either a shave or the ability to do the monica. Imagine the mess that will make. Or better yet, don't!
Actually, there nothing wrong with that fellow that couldn't be fixed by confinement to a padded room and a lifetime supply of happy pills. That or one round in the back of the head in the old Soviet style.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled reality.