The Skinning of The American Dream

Written by Lopaze Lasane on Nov 17, 2007 11:56 am

Where Slavery Became Common Amongst The Common

Within America, in the land of the brave and the veritable nation of freedom, there
resides the biggest industrial slave-labor camps ever to populate a country. The regional
county is called work-force within a village called, The Prison of Hope.
Where dreams have been erased and men’s will power has been stripped.

401K Slave Trade

When stuck on a highway once, stitched with over 17,000 slaves lined up in a row, stuck
in their cars and waiting to begin their nightmare, I unrolled my window once and asked
the slave next to me, what is work to you?
His answer made me pull my chin. He answered with, “Work is only work when you
wished you were somewhere else.” And so it goes.
Each morning these dead-heads with lost dreams inch ahead, slave style, tied by their
golden 401K shackles, sipping their lattes, like a herd of cattle (add the ring in their
noses), looking numb, as they solemnly point their $3 per gallon horses in the direction of
their self imposed prison camps. Their dreams are held hostage, their hope has been
arrested and each one is expected to mast their quarters by 0900 and that’s just the Sheep.

Highway To Hell

And their Jailors get to their Prisons even earlier. Because the Sheppard’s who HERD the
sheep are expected to meet their posts to the ringing of the eighth bell past midnight.
Which means the bosses have to leave their slave quarters and begin their highway into
hell by five thirty a.m. That’s early. Very early.

5:30 a.m.

Legalized Government Pyramid Scheme / Lottery

I again, eager as I was to understand these industrial cogs even further, while watching
them line up once, in a newspaper store, where the slaves each buy a “freedom ticket,”
and a dream, for a buck (think lotto or government pyramid scheme) and I asked one of
them, “Hey Fella, what is hell?”

I used the word “hell” only because if asked, that is what each one will always tell you
that their work days are like; hell.
So there I was.

Amongst the mental weaklings who sold their dreams to another man and I asked, to one
of them in their costumes complete with the red noose lynched around his neck (ID badge
included), “Hey Fella, what is hell?”

And he whined back at me (these types are compulsive complainers) almost as if
someone was about to push him off a “gang plank” of a Pirates ship, he summoned back
to me, “Kind Sir, let me tell you what Hell is.”
He then pulled his scattered mind together and forewarned, “Hell is like, that is when the
you in the mirror looking back at you is the person you COULD have been versus the
you that you settled for.”
It must be hard to live within a world of small when in your head you are ten feet tall.

How Utterly Sad

Those educated beyond their means or even “the working poor” have NO CHOICE as to
how many hours they must render to “the man.” Often they are required to labor into the
darkness of debt and into Visa, who then they pay a “dummy tax” to each month.
Debt by the way is when you barrow from Paul to Pay Harry for items you buy from
Mary that you actually can’t afford. That is how debt perpetuates and how the baking
system earns Billions of dollars monthly from the working poor.

These slaves are never paid for WHO they are or for work they love.
Fifty one weeks on. One week off. “I owe, I owe so off to the prison camp I go.”

Card Carrying Slaves Work For Their Master

They are simply and ONLY paid for what their job title pays. Not a penny more. And
even that is just enough to survive on—basically---so in order for VISA and MASTERCARD
to further earn off of them, the cogs must pay a monthly “royalty” or fee to them
for everything that their families want, but these self-image victims can’t afford.
Well Boo-hoo. Did any of them have a GUN pointed to their heads? No.

No more than a three-ton Elephant seeks resistance or escape from the thin rope that his
ankle is tied up with. It’s voluntary corporate slavery. That’s the sick part of their self
imposed drama.

It’s voluntary for Petes sake!
They remain in their 8 X 8 corporate cells with fear written all over their faces because at
anytime, without notice, their jailor can exercise more of his dominion and expire them at
will.

That way, they can become jobless and spend the following next four months running
through their cookie jar dough so they can again be confined by bankruptcy, but without
first being victims of mortgage disaster and foreclosure.

All because the pink slip bit them where the sun never shines. And it continues. Non-stop
and until chicken soup for the soul becomes one big bad joke.