Deliberate Cruelty: Why Broke-Ass Will Never Forgive Sandy and Her Supporters

Broke-Ass has always loved Blanche DuBois: her tender, aging, ravaged beauty; her insistence that flattering shades be applied to overhead lightbulbs; her pathetic march on, in spite of everything. But the thing Broke-Ass truly loves Blanche for is this unimpeachable statement: “Some things are not forgivable. Deliberate cruelty is not forgivable.”

Sandy is not forgivable. New York, Brooklyn, Staten Island, New Jersey–the wreckage, not forgivable. The Rancho is under water–not forgivable. Those who would cruelly claim that climate change is not certifiably, evidentially underway, courtesy greenhouse emissions, are not forgivable. People who would do nothing to contain it, to turn to sustainable, non-toxic energy sources: not forgivable. This consortium, whether officially bound or loosely arranged, are cruel.

That’s it.

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About brokeassgrouch

I'm goddamned broke and grouchy. I live in the middle of the damned ghetto and raise chickens for eggs; grow all my own vegetables and fruit; bake the bread and make the cleaning products. Why? Because I fucking have to, that's why! That's what you do when you're fucking poor! You have to make the shit yourself, dumb-ass! Broke-Ass Grouch is sick of all you Bennington and RISD trustafarians yapping about your "urban farming co-ops" and your "carbon conscious lifestyle" and your "green choices" in the Times Styles section and every alternapress periodical that you can pick up for free in every eye-wateringly expensive, edgy bakery or green-market. Maybe when you have a trust fund, you can make "choices" or have a "lifestyle" or "decide" how to "spend" your "money." Excuse me, but Mama is just trying to feed her kids over here, you little shits. And stop spraying your art-school graffiti on the fence of the vacant lot across the street from my house. I know who you are, and I'm telling my friend Keith (who lives in the projects) that it was you who painted that cartoon of the African mask. So what can I tell you? I don't fucking know. I know a lot about being broke, sure as Bob's your fucking uncle. I know about how useless an Ivy League degree is when you're flat-ass broke. I know how to unclog a drain with baking soda and vinegar, and I know how to make my own CHEESE, for fuck's sake. You tell me.
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