The Conservative Cave
Current Events => The DUmpster => Topic started by: franksolich on April 09, 2018, 07:15:13 PM
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https://jackpineradicals.com/groups/jpr-the-voice-of-poverty-and-disability/forum/topic/humiliation-and-shame/
Oh my.
davidthegnome (2250 posts) April 5, 2018 at 10:23 am
Humiliation and Shame
There are days when it is just too much for me. Today is one of those days. When I was younger (and, hell, I’m only 33 now) I worked my ass off. Some for minimum wage, more under the table for even less. Even on days and nights when I came home covered in dirt and filth, I would lay down to rest at night feeling some measure of pride and self respect – I had done it, I had made it another day. When I worked for hotel hell (let’s just say it was poorly managed) I counted the days, counted the hours – and patted myself on the back for hanging in there.
The easiest thing in the world for me, believe it or not, was manual labor. I was strong, good enough with my hands – and I enjoyed it. It was time when I was left alone, for the most part, no boss standing over me hollering for this or that. Just… motion, constantly in motion, my mind free of the constant daily worries, focused on everything from lifting a shovel to scraping a wall.
Then my back gave out. Not sure how. One day I was lifting a table with a friend and something gave a little “snap”, didn’t hurt much then, but in the days, months and years that followed… some days I can barely get out of bed – the only reason I do is that lying there hurts more. I used to work 50-60 hour weeks, on Sundays I would do 15 hour shifts. I hated retail – but I did it anyway.
Now… now I’ve got these panic attacks every day, this back pain, some times these nightmares that rob me of sleep. I keep asking myself: Is there a job I can do? Why don’t I just swallow it and go back to work? Can’t I just forget about the disability? Am I really disabled?
According to the official descriptions of “disability”, I believe I am. I meet the requirements, under the law. But…
Some days I utterly despise myself. I feel a mountain of shame and humiliation upon my shoulders. Even when I start feeling good and do something to take initiative – like start a fundraiser, there is a cynical voice in my head telling me that it’s just begging. That I have become a beggar – and I suppose I have. One of the saddest things about that, to me, is that I finally cast pride to the wind and posted it on facebook.
One person out of hundreds chose to donate. One person out of all the family and friends – some of whom I know to be fairly wealthy. I guess they couldn’t be bothered, or figured I was just lazy. One old friend told me that I should “get up off my ass” and earn it. I’d love to, if I could work without the agoraphobia, panic attacks and constant pain. If I could be sure that I wouldn’t melt down or have my back give out at a critical moment. Instead, most days I live in fear of what will happen next.
I am absurdly grateful to that one person who chose to donate – and to everyone here who has. JPR has treated me better than most of my own extended family. Some times I wonder if I just need to get out of here, get out of isolation, move somewhere… I don’t know, change the scenery, complicate my life.
That’s why I want, so desperately, to get a house on wheels (an RV, campervan, something). Of course – the disability is probably going to be necessary for that to happen – and I have no guarantee that I will ever get it. So I wonder, as one day melts into the next – as it’s still (in April! storming up here in the north) and nature is covered in a sheet of ice and snow…. I wonder if I’ll stay stuck here until I really do go mad. Until my last marble flees in terror.
All I can really still do is write. So when you read my posts, particularly when you appreciate them, you are doing something really great for me, that I am very grateful for. It is hard… and getting harder to keep writing. These feelings of shame, humiliation… and self hatred that come with being poor, some days they overwhelm me. My Doctor, Therapist, parents and sisters can tell me all day that I’m okay, that I’m a good person, that I’m not just some lousy shit too lazy to work… but some days… hell, most days.. I feel like a shit.
But, you know, I can not afford pride. I cannot spend the rest of my life here. Somehow I need to do something, to find purpose. Perhaps, if I can get out on the road, I will find it. That’s why I’m trying, that’s why I’m promoting this:
https://www.gofundme.com/xegc46-chasing-a-dream
It’s an alternative, you know? An alternative to living stuck where I am, where I’m no damn use to anyone, not even myself. I’d appreciate it if anyone would share it on facebook, twitter, or donate, whatever. If you have nasty things or harsh judgments to speak (which I doubt very much that our members do) please spare me. I have heard enough, and I torment myself enough as it is. I’m trying to do something, to get out, to live a life instead of dying in isolation.
Depression and social anxiety may win, they may drive me mad… but no one can say I am loser. No, I am a failure – I am someone who tried like mad and failed, at work, at school, perhaps, ultimately, at life, too.
Wow. I had better go lay down. Thank you for reading my latest depressed rant. I wish I knew how to change, I wish there was some magic, pill, or perfect therapy that could cure me. I don’t think there is, but I’ll keep looking anyway. Anyone got any magic beans?
Of course it's Manny's message board, the gimme-gimme-gimme crowd.
If the gnomish Dave primitive thinks Manny's primitives are going to help out, he's got another think coming.
Too bad.
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Bush is Hitler. He forgot to say that.
.
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When I was younger (and, hell, I’m only 33 now) I worked my ass off. Some for minimum wage, more under the table for even less. Even on days and nights when I came home covered in dirt and filth, I would lay down to rest at night feeling some measure of pride and self respect – I had done it, I had made it another day. When I worked for hotel hell (let’s just say it was poorly managed) I counted the days, counted the hours – and patted myself on the back for hanging in there.
The easiest thing in the world for me, believe it or not, was manual labor.
When I was 33 I was 15 years into my career which, when I was "younger" than that, was built by going to college. Making really bad decisions about how to run your life is not anything other than tsk-worthy.
Begging online is the same as standing at the corner with a "hungry, please give me money" sign. It is SUPPOSED to be demeaning. Because God gave us all brains that we can either purpose into industry or sloth.
Yes, there are many manual laborers and manual labor is a proud endeavor. But choosing the path of brawn over brain is fraught with risk and you are paying for your decisions.
In the past, when men labored, they would die before accepting handouts.
DUmmies and their offshoots would rather accept handouts than find meaningful productive alternatives.
tsk tsk tsk
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Like S99's sob- :bouncy: of a few days ago, I think I've seen this :bouncy: before. I'm not commenting on how much of it is true. Taking it at face value, my first thought was, "Whatever happened to education?" Was trying to sustain himself for 50 or 60 years on minimum wage manual labor his life's ambition? Not acquire a skilled trade? Not go to college for a remunerative field of study? Why is his current "ambition" to buy some sort of vehicle that he doesn't have the skill or $$ to maintain to wander around the US doing nothing but wander around?
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1.) He doesn’t mention how long he’s been playing his game at being ‘disabled’ and I’m going to bet it’s been more than just a couple of years.
2.) Family knows you better than anyone and if they won’t help you it’s because they know the best way to help you is shaming your sorry ass back to work!
I usually give most the benefit of the doubt, but not this one. He’s a lazy ass just trying to find a way to survive off the backs of others.
KC
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At least the flat-earth guy with the rocket actually launched.
By the time I was 33, I had two degrees, had done four years in the Army as a tanker and then tank NCO, three more years as a commissioned officer, learned two additional languages and a lot of words and phrases from a couple of others, had a wife and two kids, and had lived for extended periods in Europe and the Mid-east...also failed at a couple of things and moved on to other things. And I never thought of myself as a go-getter, but compared to him I'm a frickin' Werner von Btaun.
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Wow. I had better go lay down. Thank you for reading my latest depressed rant. I wish I knew how to change, I wish there was some magic, pill, or perfect therapy that could cure me. I don’t think there is, but I’ll keep looking anyway. Anyone got any magic beans?
Given the high cost of medical MJ it's no wonder this gnome is tired.
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I wish I knew how to change, I wish there was some magic, pill,There is a 9mm hollow point. costs less than .50 or perfect therapyI hear going head first off a tall building works exceptionally well. that could cure me.
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By the time I was 33, I had two degrees, had done four years in the Army as a tanker and then tank NCO, three more years as a commissioned officer, learned two additional languages and a lot of words and phrases from a couple of others, had a wife and two kids, and had lived for extended periods in Europe and the Mid-east...also failed at a couple of things and moved on to other things. And I never thought of myself as a go-getter, but compared to him I'm a frickin' Werner von Btaun.
I was 33 years old so long ago I forget what I was doing when I was that age; I'd long before gotten a useless college degree (on purpose; I was a kid, and detested the idea of college so much I wanted to fail), but had been paying my own way through life for 16 years by that time. I had worked a lot of different sorts of jobs, ranging from accounting to supervision to retail to property management, none of them especially lucrative, but more than good enough to keep me off the welfare rolls and not have to beg for money.
But unlike the gnomish Dave primitive, and most here, money had never been a prime motivator in this life. As long as I could support myself, I really didn't care. I wanted an exciting life, not a financially secure life. If I'd ever married and had children, well yes, I would have become seriously interested in making money, lots and lots of money, but I didn't have that. I had just myself to worry about, and no heavy-duty financial responsibilities.
I dunno why I was never interested in money; I was just born that way.
Money's always nice, very nice, but if one doesn't have it, it's not the end of the world.
And for the illumination of the gnomish Dave primitive, as long as one can support oneself, life is good.
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Bush is Hitler. He forgot to say that.
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That got updated on November 9th, 2016. :whistling:
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Liberals are SO pathetic.
Basically..."My life sucks, I'm gonna get on the INTERNET and whine about it"
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By the time I was 33, ....
*snip* (comment àpplies to this part.)
Impressive by any standard. :thumbs:
Well done old boy, :hi5: for the accomplishment.
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People recognize a hard worker. At every place I've worked, that's always been the case 100% of the time. Promotions usually follow suit. And pay raises.
I suspect david is a lazy gnome and that others see it, too.
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(https://i.imgur.com/nxwYyBU.jpg)
Liberal at birth!! :-)
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davidthegnome (2250 posts) April 5, 2018 at 10:23 am
Humiliation and Shame
There are days when it is just too much for me. Today is one of those days. When I was younger (and, hell, I’m only 33 now) I worked my ass off. Some for minimum wage, more under the table for even less. Even on days and nights when I came home covered in dirt and filth, I would lay down to rest at night feeling some measure of pride and self respect – I had done it, I had made it another day. When I worked for hotel hell (let’s just say it was poorly managed) I counted the days, counted the hours – and patted myself on the back for hanging in there.
The easiest thing in the world for me, believe it or not, was manual labor. I was strong, good enough with my hands – and I enjoyed it. It was time when I was left alone, for the most part, no boss standing over me hollering for this or that. Just… motion, constantly in motion, my mind free of the constant daily worries, focused on everything from lifting a shovel to scraping a wall.
Then my back gave out. Not sure how. One day I was lifting a table with a friend and something gave a little “snap”, didn’t hurt much then, but in the days, months and years that followed… some days I can barely get out of bed – the only reason I do is that lying there hurts more. I used to work 50-60 hour weeks, on Sundays I would do 15 hour shifts. I hated retail – but I did it anyway.
Now… now I’ve got these panic attacks every day, this back pain, some times these nightmares that rob me of sleep. I keep asking myself: Is there a job I can do? Why don’t I just swallow it and go back to work? Can’t I just forget about the disability? Am I really disabled?
According to the official descriptions of “disability”, I believe I am. I meet the requirements, under the law. But…
Some days I utterly despise myself. I feel a mountain of shame and humiliation upon my shoulders. Even when I start feeling good and do something to take initiative – like start a fundraiser, there is a cynical voice in my head telling me that it’s just begging. That I have become a beggar – and I suppose I have. One of the saddest things about that, to me, is that I finally cast pride to the wind and posted it on facebook.
One person out of hundreds chose to donate. One person out of all the family and friends – some of whom I know to be fairly wealthy. I guess they couldn’t be bothered, or figured I was just lazy. One old friend told me that I should “get up off my ass” and earn it. I’d love to, if I could work without the agoraphobia, panic attacks and constant pain. If I could be sure that I wouldn’t melt down or have my back give out at a critical moment. Instead, most days I live in fear of what will happen next.
I am absurdly grateful to that one person who chose to donate – and to everyone here who has. JPR has treated me better than most of my own extended family. Some times I wonder if I just need to get out of here, get out of isolation, move somewhere… I don’t know, change the scenery, complicate my life.
That’s why I want, so desperately, to get a house on wheels (an RV, campervan, something). Of course – the disability is probably going to be necessary for that to happen – and I have no guarantee that I will ever get it. So I wonder, as one day melts into the next – as it’s still (in April! storming up here in the north) and nature is covered in a sheet of ice and snow…. I wonder if I’ll stay stuck here until I really do go mad. Until my last marble flees in terror.
All I can really still do is write. So when you read my posts, particularly when you appreciate them, you are doing something really great for me, that I am very grateful for. It is hard… and getting harder to keep writing. These feelings of shame, humiliation… and self hatred that come with being poor, some days they overwhelm me. My Doctor, Therapist, parents and sisters can tell me all day that I’m okay, that I’m a good person, that I’m not just some lousy shit too lazy to work… but some days… hell, most days.. I feel like a shit.
But, you know, I can not afford pride. I cannot spend the rest of my life here. Somehow I need to do something, to find purpose. Perhaps, if I can get out on the road, I will find it. That’s why I’m trying, that’s why I’m promoting this:
https://www.gofundme.com/xegc46-chasing-a-dream
It’s an alternative, you know? An alternative to living stuck where I am, where I’m no damn use to anyone, not even myself. I’d appreciate it if anyone would share it on facebook, twitter, or donate, whatever. If you have nasty things or harsh judgments to speak (which I doubt very much that our members do) please spare me. I have heard enough, and I torment myself enough as it is. I’m trying to do something, to get out, to live a life instead of dying in isolation.
Depression and social anxiety may win, they may drive me mad… but no one can say I am loser. No, I am a failure – I am someone who tried like mad and failed, at work, at school, perhaps, ultimately, at life, too.
Wow. I had better go lay down. Thank you for reading my latest depressed rant. I wish I knew how to change, I wish there was some magic, pill, or perfect therapy that could cure me. I don’t think there is, but I’ll keep looking anyway. Anyone got any magic beans?
I quit reading at the second paragraph. One thing that all liberal, whether at DU or JackAssRadicals, needs to understand is that a lie should be (a) believable or (b) entertaining. The first two paragraphs were neither believable nor entertaining. I think the entire liberal movement is losing their mojo.
A liberal saying it worked its ass off is just like a smelly clown claiming he's not an internet laughingstock.
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Trump executive order strengthens work requirements for neediest Americans
President Trump on Tuesday signed an executive order directing federal agencies to strengthen existing work requirements and introduce new ones for low-income Americans receiving Medicaid, food stamps, public housing benefits and welfare as part of a broad overhaul of government assistance programs.
The order directs federal agencies to review all policies related to current work requirements as well as exemptions and waivers and report back to the White House with recommendations within 90 days.
“Welfare reform is necessary to prosperity and independence,” said Andrew Bremberg, assistant to the president and director of Trump’s domestic policy council.
www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/3646520/posts
Work requirement for welfare recipients is good for at least two reasons:
-- helps them get trained and into the work force
-- eliminates the lazy bums who don't want to work, just live off the rest of us who do work and pay taxes.
The only problem I have here is the governmental tendency to create meaningless "make work" jobs, such as hand-counting and hand-inserting 100 paper clips per box, instead of demanding real work be done, such as digging ditches or cleaning bathrooms or picking up litter from the sidewalks.
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davidthegnome (2250 posts) April 5, 2018 at 10:23 am
Humiliation and Shame
There are days when it is just too much for me. Today is one of those days. When I was younger (and, hell, I’m only 33 now) I worked my ass off. Some for minimum wage, more under the table for even less. Even on days and nights when I came home covered in dirt and filth, I would lay down to rest at night feeling some measure of pride and self respect – I had done it, I had made it another day. When I worked for hotel hell (let’s just say it was poorly managed) I counted the days, counted the hours – and patted myself on the back for hanging in there.
The easiest thing in the world for me, believe it or not, was manual labor. I was strong, good enough with my hands – and I enjoyed it. It was time when I was left alone, for the most part, no boss standing over me hollering for this or that. Just… motion, constantly in motion, my mind free of the constant daily worries, focused on everything from lifting a shovel to scraping a wall.
Then my back gave out. Not sure how. One day I was lifting a table with a friend and something gave a little “snap”, didn’t hurt much then, but in the days, months and years that followed… some days I can barely get out of bed – the only reason I do is that lying there hurts more. I used to work 50-60 hour weeks, on Sundays I would do 15 hour shifts. I hated retail – but I did it anyway.
Now… now I’ve got these panic attacks every day, this back pain, some times these nightmares that rob me of sleep. I keep asking myself: Is there a job I can do? Why don’t I just swallow it and go back to work? Can’t I just forget about the disability? Am I really disabled?
According to the official descriptions of “disability”, I believe I am. I meet the requirements, under the law. But…
Some days I utterly despise myself. I feel a mountain of shame and humiliation upon my shoulders. Even when I start feeling good and do something to take initiative – like start a fundraiser, there is a cynical voice in my head telling me that it’s just begging. That I have become a beggar – and I suppose I have. One of the saddest things about that, to me, is that I finally cast pride to the wind and posted it on facebook.
One person out of hundreds chose to donate. One person out of all the family and friends – some of whom I know to be fairly wealthy. I guess they couldn’t be bothered, or figured I was just lazy. One old friend told me that I should “get up off my ass” and earn it. I’d love to, if I could work without the agoraphobia, panic attacks and constant pain. If I could be sure that I wouldn’t melt down or have my back give out at a critical moment. Instead, most days I live in fear of what will happen next.
I am absurdly grateful to that one person who chose to donate – and to everyone here who has. JPR has treated me better than most of my own extended family. Some times I wonder if I just need to get out of here, get out of isolation, move somewhere… I don’t know, change the scenery, complicate my life.
That’s why I want, so desperately, to get a house on wheels (an RV, campervan, something). Of course – the disability is probably going to be necessary for that to happen – and I have no guarantee that I will ever get it. So I wonder, as one day melts into the next – as it’s still (in April! storming up here in the north) and nature is covered in a sheet of ice and snow…. I wonder if I’ll stay stuck here until I really do go mad. Until my last marble flees in terror.
All I can really still do is write. So when you read my posts, particularly when you appreciate them, you are doing something really great for me, that I am very grateful for. It is hard… and getting harder to keep writing. These feelings of shame, humiliation… and self hatred that come with being poor, some days they overwhelm me. My Doctor, Therapist, parents and sisters can tell me all day that I’m okay, that I’m a good person, that I’m not just some lousy shit too lazy to work… but some days… hell, most days.. I feel like a shit.
But, you know, I can not afford pride. I cannot spend the rest of my life here. Somehow I need to do something, to find purpose. Perhaps, if I can get out on the road, I will find it. That’s why I’m trying, that’s why I’m promoting this:
https://www.gofundme.com/xegc46-chasing-a-dream
It’s an alternative, you know? An alternative to living stuck where I am, where I’m no damn use to anyone, not even myself. I’d appreciate it if anyone would share it on facebook, twitter, or donate, whatever. If you have nasty things or harsh judgments to speak (which I doubt very much that our members do) please spare me. I have heard enough, and I torment myself enough as it is. I’m trying to do something, to get out, to live a life instead of dying in isolation.
Depression and social anxiety may win, they may drive me mad… but no one can say I am loser. No, I am a failure – I am someone who tried like mad and failed, at work, at school, perhaps, ultimately, at life, too.
Wow. I had better go lay down. Thank you for reading my latest depressed rant. I wish I knew how to change, I wish there was some magic, pill, or perfect therapy that could cure me. I don’t think there is, but I’ll keep looking anyway. Anyone got any magic beans?
Anything else?
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davidthegnome (2250 posts) April 5, 2018 at 10:23 am
Humiliation and Shame
There are days when it is just too much for me. Today is one of those days. When I was younger (and, hell, I’m only 33 now) I worked my ass off. Some for minimum wage, more under the table for even less. Even on days and nights when I came home covered in dirt and filth, I would lay down to rest at night feeling some measure of pride and self respect – I had done it, I had made it another day. When I worked for hotel hell (let’s just say it was poorly managed) I counted the days, counted the hours – and patted myself on the back for hanging in there.
The easiest thing in the world for me, believe it or not, was manual labor. I was strong, good enough with my hands – and I enjoyed it. It was time when I was left alone, for the most part, no boss standing over me hollering for this or that. Just… motion, constantly in motion, my mind free of the constant daily worries, focused on everything from lifting a shovel to scraping a wall.
Then my back gave out. Not sure how. One day I was lifting a table with a friend and something gave a little “snap”, didn’t hurt much then, but in the days, months and years that followed… some days I can barely get out of bed – the only reason I do is that lying there hurts more. I used to work 50-60 hour weeks, on Sundays I would do 15 hour shifts. I hated retail – but I did it anyway.
Now… now I’ve got these panic attacks every day, this back pain, some times these nightmares that rob me of sleep. I keep asking myself: Is there a job I can do? Why don’t I just swallow it and go back to work? Can’t I just forget about the disability? Am I really disabled?
According to the official descriptions of “disability”, I believe I am. I meet the requirements, under the law. But…
Some days I utterly despise myself. I feel a mountain of shame and humiliation upon my shoulders. Even when I start feeling good and do something to take initiative – like start a fundraiser, there is a cynical voice in my head telling me that it’s just begging. That I have become a beggar – and I suppose I have. One of the saddest things about that, to me, is that I finally cast pride to the wind and posted it on facebook.
One person out of hundreds chose to donate. One person out of all the family and friends – some of whom I know to be fairly wealthy. I guess they couldn’t be bothered, or figured I was just lazy. One old friend told me that I should “get up off my ass” and earn it. I’d love to, if I could work without the agoraphobia, panic attacks and constant pain. If I could be sure that I wouldn’t melt down or have my back give out at a critical moment. Instead, most days I live in fear of what will happen next.
I am absurdly grateful to that one person who chose to donate – and to everyone here who has. JPR has treated me better than most of my own extended family. Some times I wonder if I just need to get out of here, get out of isolation, move somewhere… I don’t know, change the scenery, complicate my life.
That’s why I want, so desperately, to get a house on wheels (an RV, campervan, something). Of course – the disability is probably going to be necessary for that to happen – and I have no guarantee that I will ever get it. So I wonder, as one day melts into the next – as it’s still (in April! storming up here in the north) and nature is covered in a sheet of ice and snow…. I wonder if I’ll stay stuck here until I really do go mad. Until my last marble flees in terror.
Wants an RV so he will have something to do on his extended vacation once he is on SSDI. ::)
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Wants an RV so he will have something to do on his extended vacation once he is on SSDI. ::)
The twit might alter his "ambition" were he informed that there is no welfare program that fixes motor homes that don't run or empty their full septic tanks.
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The twit might alter his "ambition" were he informed that there is no welfare program that fixes motor homes that don't run or empty their full septic tanks.
If he parks over a sewer grate in a McDonalds parking lot he should be covered even if the RV breaks down. Cheap food, free WiFi, a nearby bathroom with free toilet paper...DUmmy paradise.
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He just needs to go to california and he can get all kinds of freebies
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He just needs to go to california and he can get all kinds of freebies
Well, after 21 days, he's got $200; the goal's $25,000.
If it were me, I'd just say "screw this," and go out looking for pennies on the sidewalk.....or take a job, any job.
I'm sure that most jobs in America pay more than $10 a day.
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He just needs to go to california and he can get all kinds of freebies
And, inflict himself on their social systems . . . :whistling:
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Wants an RV so he will have something to do on his extended vacation once he is on SSDI. ::)
90's Buick sedans run next to nothing. Worked for bobo the hobo, so it should work for david.
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90's Buick sedans run next to nothing. Worked for bobo the hobo, so it should work for david.
Well, damn.
I was hoping by publicizing the fund-raiser--Manny's message board isn't enough exposure--it'd drum up some donations, but it's still stuck at $200 after 21 days, with $24,800 to go.
At that rate, it's gonna take almost seven years to make the goal.
I think gnomish Dave would be better off ditching the fundraiser and taking a minimum-wage job.
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By the way, in case anyone's missed it:
Omaha Steve (1304 posts) April 11, 2018 at 10:30 am
I will be offline through Sunday afternoon
Somebody PLEASE put up some posts in this room while I’m gone.
https://jackpineradicals.com/boards/topic/i-will-be-offline-through-sunday-afternoon/
I'm not sure why the big guy's so concerned. Even when he himself is around, and online, he hardly ever posts anything. In his own forum.
And among other news of the jackpiners, much discussion--at least three threads thus far--about the long-ago bravenak primitive taking some sort of journalism job. From their comments, one sort of senses the jackpiners don't much care for bravenak.
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:rotf:
She's posting at wonkette under the name "wonderbitch":
https://wonkette.com/632406/dear-nestle-and-also-michigan-please-eat-a-bag-of-assholes
read the comments, they are GREAT.
:rotf:
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Reporting Anchorage?
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:rotf:
She's posting at wonkette under the name "wonderbitch":
:rotf:
Her other article (to date) (https://wonkette.com/632424/bakersfields-sheriff-wants-you-to-die) displays the kind of ignorance one would expect from a DU-grade Prog. Newsflash for bn//Wb:
* Bakersfield does not have a sheriff, it has a police department;
* Sheriff Youngblood does not have jurisdiction in the City of Bakersfield, a city of 455K people, and shootings in that city would be by the police department, unless there was a pursuit that went from the county into the city or the sheriff department was called in to assist BPD;
* Similarly, the cities of Arvin (19K), California City (14K), Delano (81K), McFarland (21.4K), Ridgecrest (21.6K), Shafter (17K), Taft (9.3K), Tehachapi (14.4K) have their own police departments; Thus, the jurisdiction of Sheriff Youngblood's department covers 187K or fewer of Kern County's ~840K population.
Not that bn//Wb or Wonkette care about facts.
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Well, after 22 days, gnomish Dave's still stuck on $200 raised towards his goal of $25,000; obviously he's reached the limit of jackpiner resources.
One suspects that if he were still a primitive on Skins's island, and hence able to post his fund-raiser there, he would've raised at least a thousand.
One wonders if any jackpiners regret leaving Skins's island for the more barren terrain of Manny's message board; I bet they do.
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Well, after 22 days, gnomish Dave's still stuck on $200 raised towards his goal of $25,000; obviously he's reached the limit of jackpiner resources.
One suspects that if he were still a primitive on Skins's island, and hence able to post his fund-raiser there, he would've raised at least a thousand.
One wonders if any jackpiners regret leaving Skins's island for the more barren terrain of Manny's message board; I bet they do.
That's just over $9 a day.
He could have worked TWO hours a day at a minimum wage job, and been above $200.