Sous les pavés, la plage!

sous_les_paves__la_plage___by_betagalactosidase-d5kqwxe

Under the paving stones, the beach!

The phrase dates from 1968 student riots in Paris, and the paving stones pulled up and thrown at the police. Once the stones were pulled up, sand was found beneath. One can easily make the metaphor that freedom lurks beneath conformity; you just gotta find it.
Perhaps the Bernie Folks should go ahead and appropriate this one for themselves. The same feeling—almost—is in the air—and it is apt to end the same way.

To put it as gently as possible, elections, at all levels, go to the candidate that knows how to play the game. To put anyone else in office requires more than a ballot box, I’m afraid.
I tried to get the highest res picture of a Ouija Board that I could, for your dining and channeling pleasure. Channel whom, you ask? Good question. At this point, you might be considering Ben Franklin or John Adams or any of those other worthies who set all this in motion, lo these many years ago.

Elections go to the candidate that knows how to play the game.

Nice guess, but, sorry, no cigar. I’ve got someone else in mind, and, to go along with the title, he’s French! Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre. Mad Max! You say you want a revolution, well, Robespierre is just who yer gonna need to pull the revolution off. And, by revolution, I mean a revolution that’s gonna make the French Revolution look like a jardin fête that Marie Antoinette threw at Versailles prior to Max and company taking over.

The gentlemen that stage the revolution in this country, circa 1776, were well-versed in the writings of Locke, Hume, and Montesquieu, amongst many others…you know…the Enlightenment.

You, Dear American Revolutionary, circa 2016, should be well-versed in M. Robespierre. Whatever else Robespierre knew, he definitely knew how to take care of entrenched, entitled assholes. He didn’t just send them to bed sans dinner. He didn’t just send them to bed sans dessert. He sent them to the graveyard sans their fucking head.

To put it bluntly, we have gone past the point in this country where change can be effected at the ballot box. Most legislative bodies in this country are totally in the bag for Big Business. You want the change of which you speak? Welp, Max is your man—and he is anxiously awaiting to get back in the game!

Image ~ Betagalactosidase on Deviant Art

OuijaBoard
Print this and you and your friends can bring up M. Robespierre!

 

 

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