It's nice of the pro-life crowd to so succinctly illustrate what this is all about: the Christian principle of protecting every life, which is sacred. Except if the baby is born south of the Rio Grande. Then screw your baby. Should've been born in a better spot. Sure, there's that whole thing with Matthew 25: "For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me." And then they asked Jesus when they did all this for him, and he answered: "Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me." But people leave out the part where Jesus is like, "Let the babies without proper immigration papers die. And no abortions."
It's nice of the pro-life crowd to so succinctly illustrate what this is all about: the Christian principle of protecting every life, which is sacred. Except if the baby is born south of the Rio Grande. Then screw your baby. Should've been born in a better spot. Sure, there's that whole thing with Matthew 25: "For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me." And then they asked Jesus when they did all this for him, and he answered: "Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me." But people leave out the part where Jesus is like, "Let the babies without proper immigration papers die. And no abortions." From household names like Adidas and Ralph Lauren to exciting newcomers like Malbon and Eastside Golf, these are the labels that'll have you looking right from tee to green. Yes, you can cover your calves and still keep it breezy. The Deleted Years, by my count, ran from 2003 to 2012—give or take a year or two on either side—from the time the Apple Music Store opened to right around when we really started to use Spotify. In the early years of the new millennium, the music industry was crashing from its decadent late '90s peak, and record stores were beginning to drop like the early victims in Contagion. Napster was taking a chunk out of sales, though some of us still purchased music, whether to assuage our guilty consciences or because the peer-to-peer services were too unpredictable. But if you were an early adopter of Apple Music Store, as I was, everything you bought from 2003 to 2009 is stuck on a dusty iPod for which a charger can no longer be found, or on a MacBook that's three MacBooks ago. We're not even a third of the way through the year, and gamers already have an all-timer at their hands. Because showering without a soundtrack is unthinkable. "Talk dirty to me," Karen whispered, her brown eyes on the bar table between us. Aside from being articulate, eccentric, and funny, she was a stone knockout; for the last month, I'd been scrambling just to feel worthy. Now she'd upped the ante. "Come on," she repeated with a grin. "Say something dirty." Ooh, I said to myself, this is gonna be great. I've never done it, but I bet I'm good at it. I quickly thought through some naughty openers—discarded one as crassly vulgar, tried on another, almost blurted out something smarmy. And still she was waiting—holding my hand, smiling. |
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