but from his perspective, she was gunning for him, he could not see the wheels were turned, and depending on how close he was in front of the vehicle, she likely could not have turned tight enough to have missed him
you can hear them telling her to stay in place, your hatred of cops is clouding your judgement
kek, not ready to live in a world without police just yet, a lack of self control from low impulse control individuals like you make them necessary
They want the kids out rioting.
When Saint George overdosed, Ramsey County sent out an email to its employees who were all working from home and told not to leave their homes, that if they felt so moved, they could go protest.
I live in MN where police tend to not protect me very well, don't particularly like most of them, and had one pull a gun on me when I reported a drunk screaming about killing a bunch of people in front of my home, but at least they dealt with the drunk and did not shoot me. So don't tell me about my love for the blue, I just know in the real world there are plenty of low iq people who will fuck with you and if you do not have some kind of police force, we would be living in chaos. And I would rather pay someone to keep a lid on chaos than have to live in the mad max world you think would be so great.
now fuck off you low IQ meathead
wtf? some soul singer singing about northern Ireland? talk about cultural appropriation
yep, looking to leave too
Here is a sample of her "poetry"
On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs
by Renée Nicole Macklin
i want back my rocking chairs,
solipsist sunsets,
& coastal jungle sounds that are tercets from cicadas and pentameter from the hairy legs of
cockroaches.
i’ve donated bibles to thrift stores
(mashed them in plastic trash bags with an acidic himalayan salt lamp—
the post-baptism bibles, the ones plucked from street corners from the meaty hands of zealots, the
dumbed-down, easy-to-read, parasitic kind):
remember more the slick rubber smell of high gloss biology textbook pictures; they burned the hairs
inside my nostrils,
& salt & ink that rubbed off on my palms.
under clippings of the moon at two forty five AM I study&repeat
ribosome
endoplasmic—
lactic acid
stamen
at the IHOP on the corner of powers and stetson hills—
i repeated & scribbled until it picked its way & stagnated somewhere i can’t point to anymore, maybe
my gut—
maybe there in-between my pancreas & large intestine is the piddly brook of my soul.
it’s the ruler by which i reduce all things now; hard-edged & splintering from knowledge that
used to sit, a cloth against fevered forehead.
can i let them both be? this fickle faith and this college science that heckles from the back of the
classroom
now i can’t believe—
that the bible and qur’an and bhagavad gita are sliding long hairs behind my ear like mom
used to & exhaling from their mouths “make room for wonder”—
all my understanding dribbles down the chin onto the chest & is summarized as:
life is merely
to ovum and sperm
and where those two meet
and how often and how well
and what dies there.
https://poets.org/2020-on-learning-to-dissect-fetal-pigs