"I'm not bitter." He says, bitterly, with a bitter expression on his face.

Why do I support raising minimum wage? Because whenever I hear "You just work retail", it's insulting. It's like saying " Truck drivers just drive around for a living " or "Computer technicians just play with computers", it ignores everything people do in their line if work.

You know what I have to do? I'm a tailor, marking your clothes so they can be fitted for that job interview. I'm a baby sitter, watching out for your kids while your busy shopping to make sure they don't fall down the escalator or eat a handful of pins. I'm a computer technician, jury rigging and problem solving to make sure the twenty-year-old computers can ring up your purchases because the multi-billion dollar company I work for won't fix our replace the broken systems. I'm a fashion critic, giving you advice on how to color match, what to wear, when to wear it, how to wear it, and how to accessorize, so that way you don't march into your new job interview wearing jeans and a juggalo T-shirt. I'm psychiatrist, listening to your problems as you rant about anything and everything and expecting my input. I'm a customer service representative, getting screamed at for problems someone else caused (or more often, YOU caused) and now I must assuage your rage to make your visit a pleasant one. I'm a stocker, putting out the mountains of product we have, organizing it, sizing it, hanging it nicely, to make everything look great so you can barge through it, fuck everything up, and leave everything a mess before you leave. I'm a checker, needing to know what everything is priced, how everything is discounted, what to order, and all the steps needed to complete your purchase.

But rather then seeing us as people in a professional setting trying to make a living and running a business, you just see nameless faces doing grunt work. And so we have to smile at you, even though you're returning fifteen items, with no tags or receipts and you paid in cash, and you're infuriated that we're having difficulty completing your return. We have to smile at you, even though you have fifty items and twenty coupons, and there is a line, but you want to do sixteen transactions. We need to be polite and helpful, even though you came in the doors ten minutes before close and are here twenty minutes after we were supposed to have locked up. I nod and tell you "It's fine" when you say you need help carrying your twenty bags to your car, which you happen to have parked on the other side of the lot. I have to apologize on behalf of the company and listen to your sneering because you can't find one item on a sale day and we didn't carry that one item in the store normally for the nationally published catalog that got sent. We need to give you impeccable service, every time, while you are rude, belligerent, and obnoxious.

I have been insulted, threatened, and screamed at by customers. I have been burned, crushed, and stabbed on this job. I have metrics to meet, clients to appease, sales goals to reach, and bosses to make happy. I'm on my feet all day, I lift, have to think fast, be creative, be well-spoken and charming, and offer you service that will entice you to come back. I have to build displays while massively understaffed. I need to listen to customers telling me that I'm an idiot because their card was declined, because they are positive they paid the card off so it must be my fault. I'm given attitude because your coupon doesn't work, even though it says quite plainly that everything you picked up won't work with the coupon.

You want to know why I support raising the minimum wage? Because assholes like you make me DESERVE it. I bust my ass, every day, all day, and the last that could be expected is a wage that I can live on. So fuck you, you uppity cunt.

People have been using this



As their justification that 'Universal healthcare is bad', and that having it in the U.S. is a bad idea, that private healthcare is the answer to all of our problems because universal healthcare means you'll get shitty service for free.

Claims that private healthcare offers a better service are unsubstantiated. Let us have a cheeky look at the countries with the highest life expectancies in the world, and see what they have in common.



If you take a careful look at the 40 nations with the highest life expectancies you’ll see that the United States falls short of its other first world rivals. Now it seems odd that the only country here with a full private system that allows competition and rivalry scores lower than the socialised system we use so happily in the UK. (http://www.pacifichealthsummit.org/downloads/UHC/the%20political%20economy%20of%20uhc.PDF)

‘But the US has better quality of healthcare than those freedom hating commi-’



Hold up, buddy, what’s this long list that you’re currently clogging my dashboard with? That sure is rude of you. Well, let me tell you right now that this list shows the quality of care provided by each country. If you refer your eyeballs to the graph above, you’ll see the providers of the best care are for the most, part universal, with the US scoring again and again below the UK. It seems odd that whilst you claim private care is simply better, that it could score below out vastly superior public system.
(http://thepatientfactor.com/canadian-health-care-information/world-health-organizations-ranking-of-the-worlds-health-systems/)

A report produced by the Commonwealth Fund described the NHS as the best healthcare system in the world (http://www.commonwealthfund.org/publications/fund-reports/2014/jun/mirror-mirror), scoring highest on quality, access and efficiency. It is also the second-cheapest of the healthcare systems analysed. Not surprisingly, the private US system ranked last on indicators of efficiency, equity, and cost.

Now of course there’s waiting times, there’s denying in the UK and most other countries with universal healthcare we have waiting times. Do you know why this is? Do you think it’s because the government is failing to provide enough service? Or maybe or doctor are just lazy? No, we have longer waiting times because the number of people using our hospitals isn’t constrained to the privileged few who can afford it. Everyone here can afford healthcare because we don’t have to pay for it, it comes from our taxes. We don’t even have to think about the cost of healthcare. In the US less people see doctors because less people can afford them. This also explains why your life expectancy is a few years behind other first world nations. That being said the US doesn’t necessarily have shorter waiting times in all situations. A 2013 study discovered that British patients have better access to next day appointments, and also more American adults waited more than 6 days for primary care than British ones. However you know what the NHS does when you can’t get an appointment? It buys you one from a private provider anyway, so you’re not left without care. (http://www.theguardian.com/society/2015/aug/25/gp-appointment-waiting-times-in-us-worse-than-nhs)

What you also seem to forget is that the majority of countries with universal healthcare also offer completely private alternatives. If somebody has waiting times that could kill them, they could simply use a private provider… unless they can’t afford to, which they wouldn’t be able to anyway regardless of whether a private or public system is in place. Nobody is suggesting abolishing the private system, both public and private systems can exist together.
(http://www.ons.gov.uk/ons/rel/psa/expenditure-on-healthcare-in-the-uk/2013/index.html)

The competition by US health providers has not brought down costs, and in fact Americans pay a massive premium over British people (http://www.commonwealthfund.org/~/media/files/publications/in-the-literature/2013/nov/pdf_schoen_2013_ihp_survey_chartpack_final.pdfs). American healthcare is less cost effective both for the nation as a whole and for each individual who has to pay unfair insurance costs to have full coverage.

I will face god and walk backwards into hell.

The basis of every attempt to undermine the freedom of speech is always the charge that certain words and ideas are too dangerous to permit (read “oppressive” for today’s politics).  The political pretext for the targeting of every victim is that they are in fact the victimizer. Every act of suppression becomes an act of protection. Last of all, the thinking is always that because my reasons for abridging free speech are justifiable, they are not the same as attempts by others to violate it; in fact they are not a violation at all.

How do we distinguish between the exerciser and the violator of rights? The basic premise is simple. The only “injury” that requires the constraining of human conduct is that which restricts the liberty of another. Any other form of “injury” is solely the responsibility of the one who chooses to receive it. Do the words in question slander or libel? If they truly do so, then they rob a man of his freedom. He may not go about his life indifferent to these words even if he desires to, because they will effect his life regardless of his indifference. They genuinely infringe upon his liberty. On the hand, if someone is “injured” by words which another man or woman with a different emotional disposition could simply ignore, without suffering any subsequent loss of liberty, then there is no genuine violation here. All such speech is a legitimate exercise of liberty, and it is the suppression of it which violates the rights of the individual.

Behold the only real privileges that actually exists: “money” and "class"

No matter your race, money and station will grant you anything you want. Denying that is being childish and ignorant.

My daughter woke me around 11:50 last night. My wife and I had picked her up from her friend Sally’s birthday party, brought her home, and put her to bed. My wife went into the bedroom to read while I fell asleep watching the Braves game.

“Daddy,” she whispered, tugging my shirt sleeve. “Guess how old I’m going to be next month.”

“I don’t know, beauty,” I said as I slipped on my glasses. “How old?”
She smiled and held up four fingers.

It is 7:30 now. My wife and I have been up with her for almost 8 hours. She still refuses to tell us where she got them.

–
I hate it when my brother Charlie has to go away.

My parents constantly try to explain to me how sick he is. That I am lucky for having a brain where all the chemicals flow properly to their destinations like undammed rivers. When I complain about how bored I am without a little brother to play with, they try to make me feel bad by pointing out that his boredom likely far surpasses mine, considering his confine to a dark room in an institution.

I always beg for them to give him one last chance. Of course, they did at first. Charlie has been back home several times, each shorter in duration than the last. Every time without fail, it all starts again. The neighbourhood cats with gouged out eyes showing up in his toy chest, my dad’s razors found dropped on the baby slide in the park across the street, mom’s vitamins replaced by bits of dishwasher tablets. My parents are hesitant now, using “last chances” sparingly. They say his disorder makes him charming, makes it easy for him to fake normalcy, and to trick the doctors who care for him into thinking he is ready for rehabilitation. That I will just have to put up with my boredom if it means staying safe from him.

I hate it when Charlie has to go away. It makes me have to pretend to be good until he is back.

–
I begin tucking him into bed and he tells me, “Daddy check for monsters under my bed.” I look underneath for his amusement and see him, another him, under the bed, staring back at me quivering and whispering, “Daddy there’s somebody on my bed.”

–
My daughter won’t stop crying and screaming in the middle of the night. I visit her grave and ask her to stop, but it doesn’t help.

–
There was no pearly gate.

The only reason I knew I was in a cave was because I had just passed the entrance. The rock wall rose behind me with no ceiling in sight.

I knew this was it, this was what religion talked about, what man feared .. I had just entered the gate to hell.

I felt the presence of the cave as if it was a living, breathing creature. The stench of rotten flesh overwhelmed me.

Then there was the voice, it came from inside and all around.

“Welcome”

“Who are you?”, I asked, trying to keep my composure.

“You know”, the thing answered.

I did know.

“You are the devil”, I stuttered, quickly losing my composure. “Why me? I’ve lived as good as I could”.

The silence took over the space as my words died out. It seemed like an hour went by before the response came.

“What did you expect?”

The voice was penetrating but patient.

“I don’t know .. I never believed any of this”, I uttered “Is that why I am here?”

Silence.

I continued: “They say the greatest trick you ever pulled was convincing the world you don’t exist”

“No, the greatest trick I ever pulled was convincing the world that there is an alternative”

“There is no God?” I shivered.

The cave trembled with the words: “I am God”

–
You hear your mom calling you into the kitchen. As you are heading down the stairs you hear a whisper from the closet saying “Don’t go down there honey, I heard it too.”

–
I don’t know why I looked up, but when I did I saw him there. He stood against my window. His forehead rested against the glass, and his eyes were still and light and he smiled a lipstick-red, cartoonish grin. And he just stood there in the window. My wife was upstairs sleeping, my son was in his crib and I couldn’t move I froze and watched him looking past me through the glass.

Oh, please no. His smile never moved but he put a hand up and slid it down the glass, watching me. With matted hair and yellow skin and face through the window.
I couldn’t do anything. I just stayed there, frozen, feet still in the bushes I was pruning, looking into my home. He stood against my window.

–
Don’t be scared of the monsters, just look for them. Look to your left, to your right, under your bed, behind your dresser, in your closet but never look up, she hates being seen.

–
Last night a friend rushed me out of the house to catch the opening act at a local bar’s music night. After a few drinks I realized my phone wasn’t in my pocket. I checked the table we were sitting at, the bar, the bathrooms, and after no luck I used my friend’s phone to call mine.

After two rings someone answered, gave out a low raspy giggle, and hung up. They didn’t answer again. I eventually gave it up as a lost cause and headed home.

I found my phone laying on my night stand, right where I left it.

–
After working a hard day I came home to see my girlfriend cradling our child. I didn’t know which was more frightening, seeing my dead girlfriend and stillborn child, or knowing that someone broke into my apartment to place them there.

–
To celebrate their first year in university, six friends went camping in the wilderness. After driving for several hours from the nearest town, they discovered a lagoon, nestled beside a cliff ideal for diving. They set up camp in the woods nearby and spent the evening swimming in the warm, clear water. As the sun sunk below the trees, one of the friends went up to the highest point on the cliff and jumped off, while the other 5 watched. Their laughter slowly subsided as they waited for him to surface. It only took half a minute for them to dive in after their friend. Struggling and sputtering among the reeds in the lagoon, they searched hopelessly for him. Finally they disentangled themselves and came up, but they never saw their friend again. Heartbroken they returned to the city and passed a strange and lonely year in which their only solace was the knowledge that they would return to the lagoon to honor the anniversary of their friend’s death.

A year passed and they returned to the lagoon as a memorial, but as they approached they saw their friend standing there, head bowed. Excitedly they called to him and began running towards him, but he didn’t turn. As they got closer they called him more desperately, but still to no avail. With joy they ran towards him, but stopped dead when they saw not one but five crosses on the waterside.

–
The last thing I saw was my alarm clock flashing 12:07 before she pushed her long rotting nails through my chest, her other hand muffling my screams.

I sat bolt upright, relieved it was only a dream, but as I saw my alarm clock read 12:06, I heard my closet door creak open.

–
“The Moores are having a baby.”

I glanced up from the table, surprised. “They got the okay?”

My husband nodded. “The paperwork came in today, so I heard.” He lowered his eyes in sorrow. “Poor Joanna.”

“She’s only 53,” I breathed.

A bead of sweat dripped down my brow, landing on the cool, concrete floor of the bunker. I tried to remind myself to be thankful for this place, this concrete tomb, but it grew more difficult each day. Perpetuum Technologies, the company that sprung up just in time for the largest nuclear war the world had ever seen, had designed the vault to sustain one thousand people for as long as it took the surface to be inhabitable again.

Exactly one thousand people.

Poor Joanna indeed.

–
My wife was shaking me quietly. I looked around the cabin. The girls must have gone to bed. The fire had burned down to embers. My glass of scotch was still in my hand.
“Something is tapping on the porch.” Then I heard it too. I grabbed my ax and lit the lantern. I opened the door expecting a raccoon or a skunk, but instead found a boy of about 10 years old.

He stared at me petrified for a moment, then bolted down the path through the woods. I gave chase. He was losing me but I heard him tumble to the ground. I leapt on top of him in a rage.

“Why were you knocking on my porch?” I screamed. “My uncles told me to.” He stammered.

I was no longer angry, but confused. “But why?” I asked. “To get you out of the cabin.”

–
Any day now, she’ll say her first words.

My wife and I have been playfully betting on what she’ll say first - ‘Mama’ or ‘Daddy.’ I can hear my wife crooning over and over while she feeds her ‘Mama’s little girl! Mama loves you so much!’ Sometimes, she’s not even subtle about it - ‘Say ‘mama!’ Come on! ‘Mama!”

I don’t mind it though. I still believe I’ll win. When we first brought her home, she would scream and cry and nothing my wife would say could calm her down, but I knew just how to hold her to help her fall asleep. Our daughter was a daddy’s girl - my wife needed all the handicaps she could get.

I sit our daughter in her chair and my wife and I begin babbling like chickens - ‘Mama!’ ‘Daddy!’ ‘Say Mama!’ ‘Who’s daddy’s baby?’

I pull the gag from our little girl’s mouth.

“P-please… what do you want from me? Please let me go…”

My wife’s smile falls from her face. With a heavy heart, I put the gag back in as the girl starts to scream. I take her back to the room, locking her in and shutting the lights out. When I return, I find my wife crying.

“It’s ok, honey,” I tell her, “The next one will be better. I promise.”

–
He had been given the watch on his tenth birthday. It was an ordinary grey plastic wristwatch in every respect except for the fact that it was counting down. “That is all of the time you have left in the world, son. Use it wisely.” And indeed he did. As the watch ticked away, the boy, now a man, lived life to the fullest. He climbed mountains and swam oceans. He talked and laughed and lived and loved. The man was never afraid, for he knew exactly how much time he had left.

Eventually, the watch began its final countdown. The old man stood looking over everything he had done, everything he had built. 5. He shook hands with his old business partner, the man who had long been his friend and confidant. 4. His dog came and licked his hand, earning a pat on the head for its companionship. 3. He hugged his son, knowing that he had been a good father. 2. He kissed his wife on the forehead one last time. 1. The old man smiled and closed his eyes.

Then, nothing happened. The watch beeped once and turned off. The man stood standing there, very much alive. You would think that in that moment he would have been overjoyed. Instead, for the first time in his life, the man was scared.

Muffins that taste like doughnuts. (But without all the work and without the frying)!

Share to your wall now for easy reference later.

1 3/4 c (all purpose) flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1/3 c vegetable or canola oil
3/4 c white granulated sugar
1 egg
3/4 c milk

Combine dry ingred. Mix liquids in separate bowl. Add liquids to dry and combine together well, without over beating. Spoon mixture into prepared muffin tins. Bake at 350 for 20-25 min.

While muffins are baking prepare sugar topping.
1/4 c granulated sugar
1/4 tsp cinnamon

While muffins are hot, dip into (1/2 c) melted butter and roll into sugar & cinnamon mixture.