Friday, June 26, 2009
Tonight there is a reunion of the cops who were part of the Dem Convention in 1968, 41 years ago this weekend. There are people outside protesting their peaceful dinner. Judging the cops from then with the cops from now. My father got a double hernia and then a blood clot in his right leg thanks to one of the 1968 protesters, and regardless of how that scene went down as a whole, what you had was a bunch of hippies high on angel dust and weed pissed off at cop and throwing bricks through windows because they maybe had a collective dream where Jim Morrison's giant talking penis tells them to inflict anarchy. It wasn't Kent State, nor was it Rodney King. It was two large groups of people, each equally filled with unease on a hot summer night.
And nowww...we have cops like Anthony Abbate, who deserves his own meme so that we could all put Anthony Abbate Is A Cock-Knocking Piece of Human Shit. Its these cops of today that further cloud the memories of those who want to think the cops of 1968 were truly evil. On March 11th, 2009, this giant dick of a man beat Karolina Obrycka repeatedly after she refused to serve him more beer. Well, in true Chicago fashion, Anthony Abbate, the fucking asswipe that he is, received two years probation. The judge based her decision on the fact that the bartender, who is 5'6", touched Abbatte first and therefore the big cowardly fuck thought that beating on her for 117 seconds was self-defense. This city is as corrupt as fictional Gotham, the Abbate verdict the last real nail in our coffin. I loved the idea of Joker as anarchist in The Dark Knight, because I'd really like to take my dad's old nightstick from 1968 and break every bone is his ugly face. Then shove his balls up his ass. Forget mock tea parties, we need vigilantism.
It's my 600th post, not counting the 121 posts from my first blog, Meanwhile...At Stately Wayne Manor. My buddy Chris, now in Anchorage, sent me an email yesterday, which, in part, read: "...the Chicago of my youth is asleep. Maybe it will rot out like Detroit did and become Nelson's Algren's sandbox again. Perhaps." The blog entry's name is one of my favorite lines of Algren's. Another one comes to mind, but I'm putting it down here, in light of how Abatte beat the Polish girl a foot shorter than him, it's from CHICAGO: A CITY ON THE MAKE. "Loving Chicago is like loving a woman with a broken nose." No truer words have ever been written.