Welcome back My Dear Readers to The Other Shoe. Today President Obama is to make a Presidential address about inequality in America. I heard about this from the Facebook feed to Professor Robert Reich (once Labor Secretary under President Clinton). In the statement the Professor says this:
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“Today the President will be giving a major address on inequality. He can be expected to say it’s the central domestic challenge of our time, that equal opportunity is the keystone of our social compact, that widening inequality threatens our economy and corrodes our democracy, and that he’ll be devoting the rest of his presidency to this fundamental challenge.”[1]
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Another voice, in a growing chorus, seeking to make everyone (yet, mostly Americans) of the severe damage an era of greed has wrought upon our great nation. If you are a frequent reader of this blog, then you will know that America’s Avarice is often a topic of my writing. I have, also, made everyone aware that our newest Pontiff, Pope Francis, has frequently made avarice and inequality topics of his dictums, speeches and press releases. Seriously, one would have to be burying their head in the sand most days, and deaf the rest, not to hear the growing cries against avarice and for equality.
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“The great danger in today’s world, pervaded as it is by consumerism, is the desolation and anguish born of a complacent yet covetous heart, the feverish pursuit of frivolous pleasures, and a blunted conscience.”[2] (Also found here: ‘Pope Francis Strikes, Again’ http://theothershoe.blog.com/2013/11/pope-francis-strikes-again/)
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Fact of the matter is that for the handful of Americans get that did get reap the financial benefit of our recent economic upturn, life is quite good and I am sure this is the last thing in the world they want anyone talking about. However, for the rest of the 310 million Americans that saw no benefit, this is a topic that is not getting enough ink. My Dear Readers this is a topic there will always be space for here at The Other Shoe. I am not against my fellow man making a good living or, if they are fortunate enough, amassing a fortune.
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My problem lies with my fellow man’s avarice. Avarice. Now there is a very old word, a very old word indeed. King Midas had dreams of avarice. King Solomon is what most would see is the epitome of avarice. What follows is the dictionary definition of avarice;
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“extreme greed for wealth or material gain”
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“Extreme greed” is the textbook definition for avarice. Aye, there’s the rub! For it is in that one word… That one adjective that I see the frailty and disease of mankind. Extreme, as if there isn’t enough of that already today. Extreme poverty. Extreme religion. Extreme governance. You see it is in fact, where mankind so often falls, that goes before the fall. As a young boy my father, God rest his soul, warned me of extremism… Of steel and zealotry. You still me it was a good thing to be diligent, it was a good thing to persevere, and it was great to Excel . however, he warned that extremism field and zealotry always came before the fall . So I say to you today it is with America. So I say it is today with the extreme right wing of our Republican Party; the tea party. Today’s tea party is the group most responsible for the intransigence of the last two sessions of Congress. Most tea party members will freely admit that they are extreme and that they are selling. You see, that’s when they lost me. And, My Dear Readers, that is where they should have lost you, too. Extremism demands so much from its followers, takes from everyone else and leaves the world behind it in shambles. All too often, in this life, I and I know you to as well have seen the evidence. The zealotry and religion of the Spanish Inquisition that fell a tree of the third Reich needing to the second world war. In the extreme bigotry and racism of the Ku Klux Klan and the John Birch society’s.
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One simply cannot trust seal… Extremism… Zealotry… Or fanaticism. For when you give up all that is you to become your believe? One news is one’s self. Today America is gripped in the throes of extreme capitalism. We hear the cries of the devout
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“too much regulation will strangle growth…”
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Yet, when asked to provide proof that what they’re saying is true? None is forthcoming. As a matter of fact time magazine, just last year, ran a very short article about the regulatory practices of all the industrialized nations in the world. I found it most enlightening to see that the greatest growth in commerce was in India, at the time of this article. However, most ironic India was also the nation with the largest growth and regulations. Looking back just on the history of our nation. One can quite easily see a very recent parallel. The 60s saw this single largest expansion of the middle class, and our national economy, and the history of our nation. Not surprisingly, the 60s were also the time of the greatest growth of regulations and regulatory agencies in the history of our nation. It was the 60s when”tree huggers”started their campaign to save our national ecology. It was the beginning of the environmental protection agency. I apologize that I don’t have the time nor in my of the strength to fully document the expansion of regulation we saw in the 60s and the 70s in America. I know that most of you, My Dear Readers know that what I say is true and I ask for your understanding. So I see it is no coincidence that one time magazine, and 2013, looks to find the single largest growing economy on the face of the earth they find it that very nation is also the single largest growth and regulations. I dare any of you to go and find me proof that the opposite is true.
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I have not written in the past three days. Not only is my body wracked with an unusual level of pain I just keep getting these fevers. Thankfully Allen is working nearly every day. When his paychecks catch up with the hours might actually be able to eat better, again. However, I am afraid that I have to bring this article to a premature close. I am getting quite dizzy and have a growing extreme headache. I apologize I was just beginning to gain some wind in my argument. You all know this won’t be the last time I come here to speak to you of the disease like state of avarice in our nation. I use the word disease most accurately. For avarice has infected our nation. Greed has infected the minds the hearts and souls of too many good people that I knew and grew up with I pray every night for the strength and the lack of pain so that I might complete my novel. One day soon regardless of my condition I will finish this novel. And it is my prayers that my novel is quite popular. And that that popularity I through the the strength of my will and the sharpness of my wit translate into a good deal of wealth of my own. And then I can stop talking about avarice and I can show you… I can show you all what should the done with any wealth. More children go to bed every day right now today in America than any time in our nation’s history. Children, not adults… Not crack whores are welfare moms but children! What ever did children do to deserve to live in poverty and sleep in the hunger?
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Avarice
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As always I am very flattered that you come here and read my work. I hope and pray that in the coming days I will feel better so you get back to writing on more daily basis. I apologize for my absence and I just hope and pray that I feel better soon because I have so very much to say to you all.
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Thank you!
P.S. Please excuse any typos or errors. In my current... condition... I apologize, I jst didn't have the strenthto prof prior to publication. I will check, tomorrow... when I feel 'better'... o less, depending on the malidy.
Showing posts with label Avarice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Avarice. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
I’ll Be Seeing You, Again, Soon
I’ll Be Seeing You, Again, Soon…
Welcome back My Dearest Readers to The Other Shoe. I have been away for six days, not without good reason. On July 11 of this year I started a campaign to raise money to help me move. A very successful campaign, I might add. However, since I started that campaign I have not taken time away for myself. In the past six months I; was forced to move from a place I called home for a decade, watched a man I dearly love work to undermine his best efforts and destroy his life in slow motion, did everything I could to raise enough money to move alone if need be, packed the majority of my home by myself (which, in my condition, was; terrifying, painful, and humiliating), moved, lost, and worked the very fiber of my being to regain myself and what little status I had in the community I choose to express myself.
.
Life deciding, that not being enough, all along I was in a quiet battle with my own pain. Since right before Allen left my pain has been on a steady path increase in severity and how long it visits me. Going hand in hand with this debilitating pain are frequent fevers, severe headaches, and intense burning sensation in my neck… Like someone pouring lava down the back of my head. Through all that, My Dear Readers, I have done my best to do two things. First, never stop writing. As a boy I thought choir was my voice, as a young man I thought the stage would be my voice, as a middle-aged man you hear my voice right here. Second, ‘show no pain’… Thanks Dad.
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I hope I have succeeded, My Dear Readers. For of all that which I wished to share with you my pain-and-suffering are not numbered among them. All along in the background I been searching for my voice. Who am I? Am I a humorist? Doubtful I don’t find what going on America amusing in the slightest nor do I find any humor in the life I’ve been left to lead. Am I a humanist? Definitely I look at today and I can compare it to the other time I know best in my life. The 60s.
.
When the 60s began I was three years old. By the time it was all over; three great Americans had been struck down in the ;rime of thier lives, America had put men on the moon, African-Americans were full citizens with the right to vote, and I was a teenager. America faces similarly difficult times right now today. Am I a humanist? Damn right I am!
.
But that’s not enough, My Dear Readers, everybody’s got have a hook. In three years I have written 308 articles. Literally tens of thousands of; Americans, Asians, Mediterranean’s, people from all over this good Earth have visited my blog and read my words. Not shabby.
.
But I owe you more. And more is what you will get. My battle with my disability and pain will continue unabated, until I draw my last breath. But something else will continue as well, My Dear Readers, this blog, my writing, and ‘The Adventures of Princess Nadia’. Because you see all along I’m working on my tail. You want to know what irony is? To speech program wrote T A I L not T A L E That’s ironic.
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My Dear Readers, I wish I could be here several times every day. If I had a staff, if I had an editor, if I had anyone on God’s green earth any kind of help with these two blogs I’d be writing to you several times a day and publishing. I love you all so much. You are the reason I get up in the morning, you’re the reason I endure the pain, you’re the reason I breathe today. If I’m not here on these pages it’s not because I don’t want to be. If I’m not here, more times than not, it’s because I cannot be. And for that, I apologize.
.
Hopefully, starting later today I’m going to be writing with more of a direction. Right now I’m fixing to go… to go, to the biweekly… triweekly? Every two days. Process of removing a pain patch and putting on a new one. A simple process, eh? If they made these darn things worth a damn it would be. However, we live in reality and the damn things are made for profit so it takes me a good two hours to get one to stick.
.
As soon as that is done, My Dear Readers, I will return here and talk with you more. Oh how I love talking to you... you are the future... you do realize that, right? All of us. Young, old, teen, 20 something, African American, Caucasian, Hispanic, Latino, we are the future.
.
A humanist is a man or woman who looks at the world around them and says to themselves “we can do better”. I know we can, I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. Hopefully, My Dear Readers, over the next days, weeks, months, years I will share with you how we can all do it better. I’ll share with you how even though the 60s were an era of assassinations, we did the human part right. And how, today we are really screwing up the human part. Oh Lord we know how to make money Lordy yes! But in the pursuit of avarice mankind has traded humanity… Humility… The art of being a human is being traded it for the art of being wealthy at someone else’s expense.
.
You see, no one ever tells you that. Prior to meeting Allen, and after I left Pearland Texas. A little city krpt drawing me back to its borders. No matter where I looked for a job, no matter where I chose to live this little city kept calling me back to its borders. That little city? That little city was… Beverly Hills. You can’t really work, live, eat, play in the city of Beverly Hills without getting to know wealthy people, wealth, money and the God of it all avarice.
.
I simply must get in the shower… I met a screenwriter. This old screenwriter used to write for Colombo and McMillan and wife. He said the strangest thing to me. He said “Daniel there’s only a finite amount of wealth in the world. Humanity is not about hoarding that money. Being human… Being human is making sure that everybody has enough to live.”
.
I’ll leave you with that.
Welcome back My Dearest Readers to The Other Shoe. I have been away for six days, not without good reason. On July 11 of this year I started a campaign to raise money to help me move. A very successful campaign, I might add. However, since I started that campaign I have not taken time away for myself. In the past six months I; was forced to move from a place I called home for a decade, watched a man I dearly love work to undermine his best efforts and destroy his life in slow motion, did everything I could to raise enough money to move alone if need be, packed the majority of my home by myself (which, in my condition, was; terrifying, painful, and humiliating), moved, lost, and worked the very fiber of my being to regain myself and what little status I had in the community I choose to express myself.
.
Life deciding, that not being enough, all along I was in a quiet battle with my own pain. Since right before Allen left my pain has been on a steady path increase in severity and how long it visits me. Going hand in hand with this debilitating pain are frequent fevers, severe headaches, and intense burning sensation in my neck… Like someone pouring lava down the back of my head. Through all that, My Dear Readers, I have done my best to do two things. First, never stop writing. As a boy I thought choir was my voice, as a young man I thought the stage would be my voice, as a middle-aged man you hear my voice right here. Second, ‘show no pain’… Thanks Dad.
.
I hope I have succeeded, My Dear Readers. For of all that which I wished to share with you my pain-and-suffering are not numbered among them. All along in the background I been searching for my voice. Who am I? Am I a humorist? Doubtful I don’t find what going on America amusing in the slightest nor do I find any humor in the life I’ve been left to lead. Am I a humanist? Definitely I look at today and I can compare it to the other time I know best in my life. The 60s.
.
When the 60s began I was three years old. By the time it was all over; three great Americans had been struck down in the ;rime of thier lives, America had put men on the moon, African-Americans were full citizens with the right to vote, and I was a teenager. America faces similarly difficult times right now today. Am I a humanist? Damn right I am!
.
But that’s not enough, My Dear Readers, everybody’s got have a hook. In three years I have written 308 articles. Literally tens of thousands of; Americans, Asians, Mediterranean’s, people from all over this good Earth have visited my blog and read my words. Not shabby.
.
But I owe you more. And more is what you will get. My battle with my disability and pain will continue unabated, until I draw my last breath. But something else will continue as well, My Dear Readers, this blog, my writing, and ‘The Adventures of Princess Nadia’. Because you see all along I’m working on my tail. You want to know what irony is? To speech program wrote T A I L not T A L E That’s ironic.
.
My Dear Readers, I wish I could be here several times every day. If I had a staff, if I had an editor, if I had anyone on God’s green earth any kind of help with these two blogs I’d be writing to you several times a day and publishing. I love you all so much. You are the reason I get up in the morning, you’re the reason I endure the pain, you’re the reason I breathe today. If I’m not here on these pages it’s not because I don’t want to be. If I’m not here, more times than not, it’s because I cannot be. And for that, I apologize.
.
Hopefully, starting later today I’m going to be writing with more of a direction. Right now I’m fixing to go… to go, to the biweekly… triweekly? Every two days. Process of removing a pain patch and putting on a new one. A simple process, eh? If they made these darn things worth a damn it would be. However, we live in reality and the damn things are made for profit so it takes me a good two hours to get one to stick.
.
As soon as that is done, My Dear Readers, I will return here and talk with you more. Oh how I love talking to you... you are the future... you do realize that, right? All of us. Young, old, teen, 20 something, African American, Caucasian, Hispanic, Latino, we are the future.
.
A humanist is a man or woman who looks at the world around them and says to themselves “we can do better”. I know we can, I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. Hopefully, My Dear Readers, over the next days, weeks, months, years I will share with you how we can all do it better. I’ll share with you how even though the 60s were an era of assassinations, we did the human part right. And how, today we are really screwing up the human part. Oh Lord we know how to make money Lordy yes! But in the pursuit of avarice mankind has traded humanity… Humility… The art of being a human is being traded it for the art of being wealthy at someone else’s expense.
.
You see, no one ever tells you that. Prior to meeting Allen, and after I left Pearland Texas. A little city krpt drawing me back to its borders. No matter where I looked for a job, no matter where I chose to live this little city kept calling me back to its borders. That little city? That little city was… Beverly Hills. You can’t really work, live, eat, play in the city of Beverly Hills without getting to know wealthy people, wealth, money and the God of it all avarice.
.
I simply must get in the shower… I met a screenwriter. This old screenwriter used to write for Colombo and McMillan and wife. He said the strangest thing to me. He said “Daniel there’s only a finite amount of wealth in the world. Humanity is not about hoarding that money. Being human… Being human is making sure that everybody has enough to live.”
.
I’ll leave you with that.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
The Whittiling of America
Welcome back, My Dear Readers, to ‘The Whittling of America’ here @ The Other Shoe. Have you ever watched a man whittle a piece of wood into something of wonder and joy? As a young boy I used to watch my maternal grandfather whittle away at anything he could put his hands on. It keep his hands busy and his mind off of drink. When I got older, he taught me how to whittle, too.
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He started out with knife safety, teaching you whittle the wood and not your fingers. Well, I was never that coordinated, at least as a boy. So my first few attempts turned out items colored red. I got better, over time, but even as a young boy watching whittling, I wondered… 'What happens to what is left?'
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Being curious, and outspoken, one day I asked my grandfather; “What happens to what you whittle away, what’s on the floor” He laughed and told me “That part don’t matter much, it’s not part of the design… you just toss it aside and forget it… don’t pay that no nevermind.”
.
That didn’t sit well with me, because, don’t you see, that even as a small boy I saw that as wasteful As such, not being wasteful that could not be abided for by me. So when I would finish whittling I would take the scraps off the floor and I would use them for litter for the animal I had, or I would use them with little clue to make something out of them all on their own. But I just couldn’t let those wood scraps on the floor go wasted I had to put them to better use.
My Dear Readers, right now we’re watching the whittling of America. Let me take a moment and tried to explain. What I see in America disturbs me greatly more than even I can put into words (and that, My Dear Readers is QUITE A FEAT). I see this happening now, I can’t take the 'whittling away' at the very core of our country. I see it every day. We all know America ,right now, is only haves and have not’s. The great thing is most thet can read, write and speak ARE ‘haves’.
.
You, My Dear Readers, I am willing to bet, are mostly made up of people that have and do not live hand-to-mouth. For a majority of my life I was a have. I had a good job, I made a living wage, I bought a new car, and I had fine clothes. Then one day I was struck by a physical malady that knocked me off my feet. Unfortunately, for me, I really haven’t been able to get up again but... that’s my cross to bear.
.
Let me give you an example, that I know everyone can see, and everyone in America right now, believe it or not, is taking part in. Let me say it in one word, Walmart. Walmart started out, when I was a just a glimmer in my father's eye, as Waltons. Guess I dated myself there, some. When I was born; Ike was President and there were just 48 states to this great Union of ours. Walton's store was a very much like a T.G.& Y. My mother, God rest her soul, would never set foot in a Walton’s store.
.
And let me tell you why. My mother said, and these are the words not mine, she couldn’t stand walking into a Walton's store because every single time she did? All the women, working there, were crying. My mother told me that the women working there did not make enough money in a day’s work to go home and feed their children much less clothe them. From what my mother told me, when I was just a boy, the women would work all day and at the end of the day they would be paid just two quarters, that’s all. Now my mother was talking about during the war, World War II for those of you not my age or older. These would be women whose husbands were in Europe or the Pacific theater fighting for this great country.
.
The wives of these honorable men would work in factories, when there was work. However, in Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana, and Mississippi there wasn’t a lot of that type of work. So Mr. Walton had this brilliant idea. I will open a chain of 'Five-and-Dime' stores (and name them after me) and I’ll give jobs to women whose men are fighting at war. And I will pay them $.50 a day to work. Now these women would work for 8 to 10 hours a day. They would work at very arduous physical work, and they would get paid $.50. Now, I'll do the math for you, that is a nickel per hour he would pay these women.
.
Not much has changed, here in the 21st century, for the Walton family. Because, you see, the Walton's are now the single largest employer in our country, they call it Wal-Mart. Seven out of ten1of all of Wal-Mart’s employees are on; Food Stamps (SNAP-Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program), Medicare,W.I.C. (Women with Infant Children food subsitance program) or some other subsistence programs meant for the impoverished of our country. That 'Greeter' that smiles at you when you go to spend your week's pay, that store associate that helps you pick out the correct T.V., Oven, or dining set you’re looking for, and the boy that picks up the carts from those huge football field sized lots. Seven out of ten of them, all live with help from our governments... that's you and me.
.
The smiling, apparently happy, Wal-Mart workers. work 8 to 10 hours a day, to go home and eat their dinner. A Styrofoam cup of Ramen noodles, paid for by you and me. If they become ill, you see, they either die or they get medical care from a Medicare Dr. Again, paid for by you and me. If they are foolish enough to get pregnant the pregnancy is monitored by a Medicare Dr., the child is delivered in a Medicare hospital, and that poor child is to be fed with formula paid for by you and me (W.I.C.).
.
I really hope, My Dear Readers, that you feel the vile disgust I feel as I write every word of this article today. Because you see; the war is over, the boys came home, but now it’s not just the women that are living in poverty. Let me repeat something, you might’ve glossed over earlier, that I said before Wal-Mart is the single largest employer and our nation today = seven out of TEN Walmart employees live below poverty.
.
.
He started out with knife safety, teaching you whittle the wood and not your fingers. Well, I was never that coordinated, at least as a boy. So my first few attempts turned out items colored red. I got better, over time, but even as a young boy watching whittling, I wondered… 'What happens to what is left?'
.
Being curious, and outspoken, one day I asked my grandfather; “What happens to what you whittle away, what’s on the floor” He laughed and told me “That part don’t matter much, it’s not part of the design… you just toss it aside and forget it… don’t pay that no nevermind.”
.
That didn’t sit well with me, because, don’t you see, that even as a small boy I saw that as wasteful As such, not being wasteful that could not be abided for by me. So when I would finish whittling I would take the scraps off the floor and I would use them for litter for the animal I had, or I would use them with little clue to make something out of them all on their own. But I just couldn’t let those wood scraps on the floor go wasted I had to put them to better use.
My Dear Readers, right now we’re watching the whittling of America. Let me take a moment and tried to explain. What I see in America disturbs me greatly more than even I can put into words (and that, My Dear Readers is QUITE A FEAT). I see this happening now, I can’t take the 'whittling away' at the very core of our country. I see it every day. We all know America ,right now, is only haves and have not’s. The great thing is most thet can read, write and speak ARE ‘haves’.
.
You, My Dear Readers, I am willing to bet, are mostly made up of people that have and do not live hand-to-mouth. For a majority of my life I was a have. I had a good job, I made a living wage, I bought a new car, and I had fine clothes. Then one day I was struck by a physical malady that knocked me off my feet. Unfortunately, for me, I really haven’t been able to get up again but... that’s my cross to bear.
.
Let me give you an example, that I know everyone can see, and everyone in America right now, believe it or not, is taking part in. Let me say it in one word, Walmart. Walmart started out, when I was a just a glimmer in my father's eye, as Waltons. Guess I dated myself there, some. When I was born; Ike was President and there were just 48 states to this great Union of ours. Walton's store was a very much like a T.G.& Y. My mother, God rest her soul, would never set foot in a Walton’s store.
.
And let me tell you why. My mother said, and these are the words not mine, she couldn’t stand walking into a Walton's store because every single time she did? All the women, working there, were crying. My mother told me that the women working there did not make enough money in a day’s work to go home and feed their children much less clothe them. From what my mother told me, when I was just a boy, the women would work all day and at the end of the day they would be paid just two quarters, that’s all. Now my mother was talking about during the war, World War II for those of you not my age or older. These would be women whose husbands were in Europe or the Pacific theater fighting for this great country.
.
The wives of these honorable men would work in factories, when there was work. However, in Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana, and Mississippi there wasn’t a lot of that type of work. So Mr. Walton had this brilliant idea. I will open a chain of 'Five-and-Dime' stores (and name them after me) and I’ll give jobs to women whose men are fighting at war. And I will pay them $.50 a day to work. Now these women would work for 8 to 10 hours a day. They would work at very arduous physical work, and they would get paid $.50. Now, I'll do the math for you, that is a nickel per hour he would pay these women.
.
Not much has changed, here in the 21st century, for the Walton family. Because, you see, the Walton's are now the single largest employer in our country, they call it Wal-Mart. Seven out of ten1of all of Wal-Mart’s employees are on; Food Stamps (SNAP-Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program), Medicare,W.I.C. (Women with Infant Children food subsitance program) or some other subsistence programs meant for the impoverished of our country. That 'Greeter' that smiles at you when you go to spend your week's pay, that store associate that helps you pick out the correct T.V., Oven, or dining set you’re looking for, and the boy that picks up the carts from those huge football field sized lots. Seven out of ten of them, all live with help from our governments... that's you and me.
.
The smiling, apparently happy, Wal-Mart workers. work 8 to 10 hours a day, to go home and eat their dinner. A Styrofoam cup of Ramen noodles, paid for by you and me. If they become ill, you see, they either die or they get medical care from a Medicare Dr. Again, paid for by you and me. If they are foolish enough to get pregnant the pregnancy is monitored by a Medicare Dr., the child is delivered in a Medicare hospital, and that poor child is to be fed with formula paid for by you and me (W.I.C.).
.
I really hope, My Dear Readers, that you feel the vile disgust I feel as I write every word of this article today. Because you see; the war is over, the boys came home, but now it’s not just the women that are living in poverty. Let me repeat something, you might’ve glossed over earlier, that I said before Wal-Mart is the single largest employer and our nation today = seven out of TEN Walmart employees live below poverty.
.
I’m to go to the bathroom and I want you to think about the last sentence in the paragraph above. (Playing theme song from Jepordy...)
.
I’m back now, thank you!
.
Right now, I am going to do what it is I do best. I’m going to try and paint picture for you, with words [Thank you, God, for that ability] The very next time you go to Wal-Mart, I want you to do this for me; when you see the female cashier, and she is a young woman of 20 or 30, think about her coming home after eight hours standing behind a cash register, working for Wal-Mart, just to feed her infant child formula paid for by W.I.C. (you and me). When you see the young man pushing carts, back into the store, think about him going home and his whole dinner is a cup of Ramen noodles, paid for by Food Stamps (you and me). When you are at the electronics department picking out that newest game your son and daughter is dying for, the young person that handa you that game if they get sick then the doctor, they see, will be paid for by Medicare (you and me). And finally I’d like for you to think about the person that couldn’t get a job at Wal-Mart, because they wouldn’t betray their beliefs. Now they sit outside Wal-Mart dirty and disheveled beaten by society... with a hand out begging for the scraps on the floor left by 'The Whittiling of America'.
.
[1] http://moneymorning.com/2013/06/13/how-the-wal-mart-syndrome-pushes-millions-more-onto-food-stamps/
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Pride Mobility Harms Disabled Americans
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUbzAIbGS04
This is a video testimony about the greed and avarice of Pride Mobility and how they harm disabled Americans.
I have tried calling, I was treated rudely and told lies. I have talked with 'Skip' (a Pride Technician) and he flat out told me; he was going to get PAID for coming out and taking pictures but there was "no way in HELL" I would get my Jazzy 600 repaired. Pride Mobility KNOWS that this particular part 'falls off easily' and they are USING disabled Americans to further their greed.
.
I asked for help fixing a PLASTIC 'fender' attached to a steel frame via TWO small screws. The screws FAIL regulally and Pride makes money charging disabled Americans to PAY FOR THEIR MISTAKE!
This is a video testimony about the greed and avarice of Pride Mobility and how they harm disabled Americans.
I have tried calling, I was treated rudely and told lies. I have talked with 'Skip' (a Pride Technician) and he flat out told me; he was going to get PAID for coming out and taking pictures but there was "no way in HELL" I would get my Jazzy 600 repaired. Pride Mobility KNOWS that this particular part 'falls off easily' and they are USING disabled Americans to further their greed.
.
I asked for help fixing a PLASTIC 'fender' attached to a steel frame via TWO small screws. The screws FAIL regulally and Pride makes money charging disabled Americans to PAY FOR THEIR MISTAKE!
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