Rich Snowflake Finds the Existence of Workers Offensive

No, it’s not an Onion piece. It’s for real.

20 thoughts on “Rich Snowflake Finds the Existence of Workers Offensive”

  1. And of course he also uses the word “Latinx” in his article. And people wonder why so many white working class people hate the Democratic Party and liberals.


    1. That people would lack self-awareness to this extent is incomprehensible.

      Half of my family is coal miners, and they looked exactly like this after work. So it kind of hits home with me.


      1. “Half of my family is coal miners”

        What do you know about coal mining in the US? It’s a very interesting story (esp in Appalachia).
        For most of the 20th century conditions for American miners were far, far worse than they were in Poland (not sure about USSR/Ukraine) and coal mining was one of the key fields in the struggles to unionize (and the scenes of the some of the worst labor unrest).


        1. Come to think of it, not much. I know that Appalachia is in the bad state it is because mining died.

          All of my miner uncles became alcoholics. I can hardly blame them based on what the job was like. Well, at least we don’t have this sort of snowflakery in Ukraine and nobody shits on the memory of the miners.


          1. “Appalachia is in the bad state it is because mining died”
            It wasn’t necessarily doing great when the mining was going on. Terrible, dangerous and often non-union conditions and the massive exploitation of impoverished people with no way out.
            And the Northeast has always looked down on Appalachia even though by most measures the population was ahead of the rest of the country on issues like the importance of unions.



          1. “Would he condemn this fucker?”

            I don’t think so…. he probably ultimately join him in metaphorically spitting in their blackened faces.
            The article is the same kind of mentality that makes people believe in crap like homeopathy… it looks like something so it must be that thing and any and all facts or context are irrelevant.


            1. The snobbery of the 19th century has been reborn. It’s now OK to want to ban all presence, or even memory of presence, of workers from the spaces of the wealthy.


  2. At least the writer’s poems make an attempt at rhyme:

    “Black bodies swing in the southern breeze
    Children cut from stomachs hanging
    Blood on the roots, blood on the leaves

    Protests walk through tired cities
    No justice no peace for the world seeing
    Black bodies swing in the southern breeze

    From their twisted mouth, I heard them plead
    ‘My hands are up, stop shooting’
    Blood on his hands blood on his sleeves

    Scent of magnolias fresh and sweet
    From the sun rotting, from trees dropping
    Black bodies sing in the southern breeze”


      1. “You live in a strange state, my friend.”

        Yep. The author and I both live in the Phoenix metropolitan area, and we’re both Air Force veterans.

        Could be worse. I could live in California.


        1. Speaking of California — whatever happened to Stringer Boy, who used to take up even more of the comments space on your web site with his idiotic ramblings than I do?

          Do you know why the little fellow scampered away, and hasn’t come back?


      2. “What is this?? Did the author of the article write this”

        As pointed out, it’s an homage (aka semi-plagiarism) of the poem/song “Strange Fruit” written in reaction to the lynchings of blacks in the South. It was first sung by Billie Holiday in 1939.

        The original is devastating (partly because of the cold understatement of Holiday’s delivery) but this lurid mess is doggerel, it’s like someone trying to turn Shakespeare into Hamilton style rap…


        1. Southern trees bear strange fruit
          Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
          Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
          Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees

          Pastoral scene of the gallant south
          The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
          Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh
          Then the sudden smell of burning flesh

          Here is fruit for the crows to pluck
          For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
          For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop
          Here is a strange and bitter crop


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