Count Me In. . .

A five minute, painless operation.

God Bless Mississippi!

Our polling place was smooth, quietly efficient and the voting, by touch screen, effortless. The volunteers were helpful, polite and I even saw a young fellow offer his ID to vote (no voter ID in Mississippi), which was declined with a smile. First time voter, undoubtedly.

Anyway, I've cast my vote and in the process negated someone else's. I guess that's how it works.

No Black Panthers here. It's kinda like, uh, normal. The rest of the world should come here to see how it's done.

However, on the way back to the office, I spotted an irregularity in the force.

Two white girls standing at a very busy West Jackson intersection holding Obama signs. Yeah, so what, right? Everyone has a right to protest, support or whatever. No problem.

The problem is, of all places in Jackson to stand around supporting your candidate, why here? In the ghetto? Whose conscience are you trying to cleanse?

The store behind them, I no longer patronize after 5:00 p.m. for the vagrants, beggars and ne'er-do-wells that hammer you for money, a ride or anything free. That store was robbed within the last 6 months.

Sure, it's broad daylight, no worries, right??

WRONG!

Let me enlighten you as to what happens over here during broad daylight.

Bank robber captured behind our office hiding in the bushes several years ago after a long foot chase.

On Martin Luther King's birthday, a brick hurled through the window of a rental car that belonged to one of our longtime friends and "Yankee" equipment salesmen. Scared the poor bastard to death.

A white student at the predominantly black Jackson State University around the corner was shot several days ago. Randomly?

Last year, a man entered our laboratory through the back door during business hours when no men were there, only the secretaries. He made a lap through the office chatting on his cell phone, quashing inquiries of his uninvited presence by our secretaries, snatched up the money from our goody box and was out the back door before anything could be done. We now have magnetic locks.

A few months ago I saw cops chasing four thugs in a stolen car who managed to destroy several road signs on the Jackson State Parkway during the chase.

Countless assaults, shootings, bank robberies, drug related incidents.

One evening, I even thought I was going to have to pull my weapon on what turned out to be an undercover police officer after the bastard creeped by in his low-ride, blacked-out, hoopty mobile with the tinted window cracked just so, giving me the evil eye as he passed. Thankfully I didn't, and he turned around in the parking lot down the street while I closed and locked our gate.

He sped away in the other direction towards the chicken joint, wheeled up in the parking lot, bailed out, opened the trunk, pulled out a sawed-off shotgun as mass mayhem ensued when several undercover cops chased a suspect down the street.

I go to work locked and loaded. I go home locked and loaded. Because I have to.

Yeah, this is no place for white girls.

But, they're robots. Unaware and oblivious. Just like Obama wants them to be.

So, you can't blame them. It's the culture of blame and guilt, the cult of personality that has convinced them of a pie-in-the-sky solution for the social ills of this country.


Oh look, one of them even smokes. I guess she expects that socialized medicine will take care of her throughout her lifetime, cheaper than insurance, right? You'll still be paying for it baby, one tax dollar at a time.



I wish for a moment that I could be the mind's eye of these two women. What do they see as they gaze north into the haze of ghetto West Jackson? Is it promise? Is it revolution? Is it change? Absolution?

Absolution for the sins of people long gone? Removal of the cold, wet, and heavy pelt of guilt that has been forced upon white America for generations?

It's no longer our fault.

We don't hold the key to the future of black America. The only keymasters are themselves.

Only THEY can raise themselves up, can push themselves to higher limits, can motivate one another through positive reinforcement and shake off the years of a violent and unproductive culture within their society. Here is their chance, in the form of Obama.

Your idol, your messiah, your end all-be all for communal woes.

It's no longer our fault, because blacks in America have been sold a piss-poor bill of goods ever since the civil rights era by their own people. And here comes Barack, selling it again. But, will they buy it? The new and improved civil rights era? Sadly, they probably will.

And these poor girls have bought it too. Oblivious to the cold fact that whether Barack Obama is elected or not, blacks in America will never advance as a society until they do it for themselves. And we, the new slaves in America, will never be absolved nor freed.

Our guilt will remain. Even after Barack Obama has long been forgotten.

Our guilt will remain, because it is a lucrative business helmed by race hustlers like Jackson, Sharpton, Farrakhan, Shabazz and now, the slightly muted and subdued Obama version of hustle.

Welcome to Hope and Change 2008.

The new hustle. The new handout. The reparation.

Repackaged, refined, new and improved socialism with a big, all seeing eye on the prize, and that prize, is us.