Somewhere, at this moment, a woman in your town is looking online to purchase a raft. She comprehends, even through she voted for the President, that this administration doesn't really care about her and her family during a catastrophic emergency. The woman is black.
Somewhere, at this moment, a man in power with substance abuse problem could use an AA meeting, but instead he "white knuckles" his way through his quest to stay sober. His coping mechanisms? Perhaps O'Douls, video games and prayer.
Somewhere, at this moment, a man rubs his hands together gleefully, and calculates in his head all the money he will make rebuilding New Orleans. When his conscience threatens to interrupt his trance, it is abruptly put in its place. Someone has to profit off this tragedy he thinks to himself, might as well be me.
Somewhere, at this moment, the FBI starts a folder on a fuming progressive from your region, who's so disgusted with the state of the nation that he called up the office of a particularly despicable Senator who has consistently shown himself to be a leader without principles or attributes beyond profiteering and plundering. He left a message on the slimy Senator's voice mail that hinted at bodily harm becoming the Senator if he continued his morally deficient dealings. The fuming liberal doesn't really intend to do the Senator any harm, but he's so pissed off, he's at the end of his rope.
Somewhere, at this moment, a teenager in your town is on iTunes. He's buying the new Kanye West album, "Late Registration." He listens to groups like the Dave Matthews Band, and artists like Jack Johnson, but the teen was so impressed by West's ballsy performance on the Sept. 2 fundraiser on NBC, that he figured he'd give West's music a chance. Anyone with that much to lose, the teen figured, who would still stand up for what he believes, is someone to be respected.
Somewhere, at this moment, a person who fancies themselves a progressive-minded liberal in public, secretly thinks that many of the downtrodden in New Orleans were simply underachievers, lazy losers who didn't possess the ambition to lift themselves out of an economic hole.
Somewhere, at this moment, a progressive feels guilty as he entertains an "I told you so" daydream to the 59 million people who voted for the President. The progressive thinks that maybe those people in New Orleans who died in the concentration camp that was the Convention Center did not die in vain, that their expiration will spur action and movement and a wakeup call for those clueless bastards who didn't read the writing on the wall.
Somewhere, at this moment, political operatives are plotting who will be their next fall guy, their next patsy, the sucker who will take the fall for their man's folly. The operatives believe that their cause is justified, for their sole reason for being is to advance their own lot in life. The operatives aren't encumbered by a conscience, luckily, and when a hint of moral decency threatens their agenda, they take a look at their fancy home, their summer cottage, their new cars, their daughter's tuition at that Ivy League School, and the moment passes. They take another gulp of Scotch, and continue plotting.
Somewhere, at this moment, a Hollywood starlet snorts a line of coke off her friend's right breast. The starlet knows that there was a big storm of some sort in the news, but she couldn't tell you where it occurred. Her next movie opens up in three weeks, so she has other stuff on her mind.
Somewhere, at this moment, a man in power who knows in his heart that he has dropped the ball, and knows his inefficiency during a crisis led to the deaths of pathetic innocents, wonders if there is such a place as Hell. Because even though his wife tells him that he performed capably, he realizes that he did not. The truth is, he knew he was in over his head when he was given this position of power, and he prayed often that his mettle wouldn't be tested by a severe crisis. Now he prays that over the course of his remaining days, he may redeem himself, lest there is a Hell.
Somewhere, at this moment, a young woman working for a man in power in DC knows that her boss, who postures and presents himself as a God-fearing Christian, is a despicable human being whose sole mission has nothing to do with the Bible, or Jesus. She knows that the man worships property and currency, not human beings, and she dreams of jumping ship, defecting to a progressive camp, and outing the self-righteous charlatan who has so many people fooled as the dirtbag he is.
Somewhere, at this moment, the wife of a man in power who has consistently shown himself to be a coward in the face of danger, who has consistently shrunk from adversity, wonders if perhaps some of what is written about her husband is true. She wonders if he'll always go into "My Pet Goat" mode when the chips are down.
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