My dearest friend is a corporation He has all the same rights that I enjoy- To speak his mind, and have a religion Even if religion is just profit.
My dearest friend is a corporation He's bound by the laws of America- To uphold human rights and dignity Even though some murder, torture may slip through.
My dearest friend is a corporation He's so confident, too big to fail We go out drinking and I pay the tab Even though his wallet's plush with hundreds.
My dearest friend is a corporation He drives a fancy car and makes me walk Owns a mansion, makes me sleep outside Even though the cold could kill a man.
My dearest friend is a corporation The world is an antfarm to his conscience That he shakes mercilessly for laughs Even though his karma will catch up with him.
My dearest friend is a corporation He has a new wife to bang each night And I'd like to think he knows what love is Even though his life's a one night stand.
He blinks, up comes the home improvement store Lowes. Cars swerve, cuz he’s chasin’ afta ho’s. When He goes by, He paints sunshine on every rafter, Sprinkles the air with laughter, Krista tells him to clean that sh*t up. There is no one like Hafrank. I'll introduce him, to you, but it's no use, he’ll try to bite your limb, Cause my Hafrank’s in love with me
Krista: Terrorists don’t deserve rights, screw the trial and hang ‘em!
Hafrank: But that is a perversion of everything our constitution stands for!
Krista: Hang ‘em!
Hafrank: But it makes us just as bad as the terrorists!
Krista: Hang ‘em!
Hafrank: You’re not making sense!
Krista: Hang ‘em!
Hafrank: Nick, make her stop!
Nick: What are you going to do with all the wet clothes I set out?
Krista: Hang ‘em! I mean-
Nick: Too late. I’ll be watching TV till you’re done.
Hafrank: Thanks, Nick. What’s her problem?
Nick: She fell asleep watching Hannity and now it’s subconsciously lodged in her head.
Hafrank: That sounds serious.
Nick: Nah, it’s cool. How the Tea Party movement started.
John Travolta: You guys, she’s writing No Liberty for Iraqis on all the shirts.
Nick: Why Iraqis?
John Travolta: To the crazy bigot mind, everything remotely Middle Eastern is exactly the same thing.
Hafrank: We’re going to need a commercial break to clear this up; can you help us out announcer?
Announcer: Sure, but it’ll cost you… that’s right, all the tic-tacs.
Hafrank: What about a Chicklet I found lodged under my bark?
Announcer: It’ll have to do, I haven’t eaten since the last episode.
Bob McDonnell: Hello, I’m Bob McDonnell and America needs common sense solutions to healthcare. Something every American understands. Like ‘put down the fork fatty’ or maybe watching the new season of House M.D. Let’s just face it that any real solution to the problem is going to be beyond the average Joe Six Pack; unless it takes the form of some sort of reality show. Healthcare Idol, Dancing with the Stars… of Grey’s Anatomy, maybe? So You Think You Can Pay Insurance Premiums and Not Be Dropped for a Pre-existing Condition? That’s really all we got.
Announcer: And we’re back… until I get more rancid Chicklets.
Nick: Is she still defacing shirts?
Hafrank: No, now she’s moved on to chuddies.
Nick: What are those?
Hafrank: They’re like underwear.
Nick: Oh, no, how will I strip!
Hafrank: Just find a Republican venue.
Nick: Do you know one?
Hafrank: There’s the Fiscal Cumservative on 5th and the GOP on 8th.
Nick: The GOP doesn’t sound so dirty.
Hafrank: It stands for Grand Old Pooty.
Nick: And just how do you know about these places gnome!?
Hafrank: Every establishment desires a scenic garden gnome. Makes things homey.
Nick: Do they tip well?
Hafrank: If you say you’re a bank, they’ll give you $700 billion. Just don’t say you’re an underprivileged child in need of food or an education.
Krista: Don’t be stealin’ my crowd at the Fiscal Cumservative!
Hafrank: No gnome should have to hear both their owners go out stripping.
Krista: Hey, someone has to pay the bills around here!
Hafrank: But Blogger’s free.
Krista: Oh, yeah. But the terrorists shouldn’t be! Justice is blind you know, and Americans are brail. Alpacas aren’t.
Hafrank: I won’t even ask what group that slur is against.
Lately, something about impressionist artwork has took hold of my senses. The haunting realness, that is too pretty to be real. The wavy dreaminess about it that takes you back to a youth you never had but wish you did.
Camille Pissarro has especially struck me. I'd like to share some of my favorites of his.
Dividing lines beyond the gray; Lovers smelling dead bouquets, A sense of solace, can’t convey Grief and morning won’t allay; The devil’s laughing at dismay As reality our dreams betray Casting them in disarray; Perhaps this hell we may delay But it would a false display, Seeking solace from cliché. In the end, we cannot stray From rigor mortis, swift decay. The hunter has become the prey; Life, the dimming ash within the tray.
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Simple and Carefree? . Grab my hand, let’s go back ten years ago To glimpse Nigeria across the sea; Its people caught in flame as pipelines blow- Life, it was never simple or carefree.
Twenty years brings not much more peace on earth Nor mercy mild to the poor Afghani; A Mere break from desolation without mirth- Life, it was never simple or carefree.
Chance we travel back in time to thirty? To see a revolution, its debris?
Why, not to 40, Laos and Vietnam? The ravaging, unfriendly, dropping bombs?
Fifty brings us to King’s mountaintop Sit-ins, dogs, non-violent pleas; Oppression that shall never stop- Life, it was never simple or carefree.
We shouldn’t lose ourselves in fiction glee; Life means more than simple and carefree.
I want to put into words the depth of my worry. I want them to somehow change a spectrum long since set in stone.
But I know my limits.
If anything I said could make my fighting worth it I could be at ease. But one state and one candidate hold all the power to destroy my hope. So much shouldn't be held by so few.
But it is.
Coakley was a liked attorney general, embodied everything that Massachusetts once stood for.
But it wasn't enough.
Thus, I wish for rain to wash away divisiveness. I wish for sun to rise and fight the fog that's sprinkled down in Marion, Ohio and every other town in spirit. I wish for God to intervene, and send a rainbow through the world, righting wrongs, rebuilding Haiti.
