I laughed and then cried
Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. PHD’s Letter From Birmingham Jail, his response to southern religious leaders accusing his protest movement of being too extremist and badly timed.
I highly suggest everyone reads the full text of the letter linked at the bottom of this post. The mod team was deliberating for days to think of what sections we should link to as an excerpt in this post, when we realized that we were just copying the entire letter at one point. Every word King writes here is powerful.You deplore the demonstrations taking place in Birmingham. But your statement, I am sorry to say, fails to express a similar concern for the conditions that brought about the demonstrations. I am sure that none of you would want to rest content with the superficial kind of social analysis that deals merely with effects and does not grapple with underlying causes. It is unfortunate that demonstrations are taking place in Birmingham, but it is even more unfortunate that the city’s white power structure left the Negro community with no alternative.[…]My friends, I must say to you that we have not made a single gain in civil rights without determined legal and nonviolent pressure. Lamentably, it is an historical fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges voluntarily. Individuals may see the moral light and voluntarily give up their unjust posture; but, as Reinhold Niebuhr has reminded us, groups tend to be more immoral than individuals.We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was “well timed” in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word “Wait!” It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This “Wait” has almost always meant “Never.” We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that “justice too long delayed is justice denied.”We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God given rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward gaining political independence, but we still creep at horse and buggy pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, “Wait.” But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six year old daughter why she can’t go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five year old son who is asking: “Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?”; when you take a cross county drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading “white” and “colored”; when your first name becomes “nigger,” your middle name becomes “boy” (however old you are) and your last name becomes “John,” and your wife and mother are never given the respected title “Mrs.”; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of “nobodiness”–then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience.You express a great deal of anxiety over our willingness to break laws. This is certainly a legitimate concern. Since we so diligently urge people to obey the Supreme Court’s decision of 1954 outlawing segregation in the public schools, at first glance it may seem rather paradoxical for us consciously to break laws. One may well ask: “How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?” The answer lies in the fact that there are two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that “an unjust law is no law at all.”[…]Sometimes a law is just on its face and unjust in its application. For instance, I have been arrested on a charge of parading without a permit. Now, there is nothing wrong in having an ordinance which requires a permit for a parade. But such an ordinance becomes unjust when it is used to maintain segregation and to deny citizens the First-Amendment privilege of peaceful assembly and protest.[…]I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and that when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.[…]I had also hoped that the white moderate would reject the myth concerning time in relation to the struggle for freedom. I have just received a letter from a white brother in Texas. He writes: “All Christians know that the colored people will receive equal rights eventually, but it is possible that you are in too great a religious hurry. It has taken Christianity almost two thousand years to accomplish what it has. The teachings of Christ take time to come to earth.” Such an attitude stems from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity.[…]And I am further convinced that if our white brothers dismiss as “rabble rousers” and “outside agitators” those of us who employ nonviolent direct action, and if they refuse to support our nonviolent efforts, millions of Negroes will, out of frustration and despair, seek solace and security in black nationalist ideologies–a development that would inevitably lead to a frightening racial nightmare.Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The yearning for freedom eventually manifests itself, and that is what has happened to the American Negro. Something within has reminded him of his birthright of freedom, and something without has reminded him that it can be gained. Consciously or unconsciously, he has been caught up by the Zeitgeist, and with his black brothers of Africa and his brown and yellow brothers of Asia, South America and the Caribbean, the United States Negro is moving with a sense of great urgency toward the promised land of racial justice. If one recognizes this vital urge that has engulfed the Negro community, one should readily understand why public demonstrations are taking place. The Negro has many pent up resentments and latent frustrations, and he must release them. So let him march; let him make prayer pilgrimages to the city hall; let him go on freedom rides -and try to understand why he must do so. If his repressed emotions are not released in nonviolent ways, they will seek expression through violence; this is not a threat but a fact of history. So I have not said to my people: “Get rid of your discontent.” Rather, I have tried to say that this normal and healthy discontent can be channeled into the creative outlet of nonviolent direct action. And now this approach is being termed extremist. But though I was initially disappointed at being categorized as an extremist, as I continued to think about the matter I gradually gained a measure of satisfaction from the label.https://ift.tt/2UjhbQc /r/PoliticalHumor mod team decided that this sticky would be a much more effective support action than shutting down the subreddit or other standard Reddit protests, because honestly, those protests don’t do much.)
“Are you having a crisis?”
When Beethoven passed away, he was buried in a churchyard. A couple days later, the town drunk was walking through the cemetery and heard some strange noise coming from the area where Beethoven was buried. Terrified, the drunk ran and got the priest to come and listen to it…
The priest bent close to the grave and heard some faint, unrecognizable music coming from the grave. Frightened, the priest ran and got the town magistrate. When the magistrate arrived, he bent his ear to the grave, listened for a moment, and said, "Ah, yes, that's Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, being played backwards." He listened a while longer, and said, "There's the Eighth Symphony, and it's backwards, too. Most puzzling." So the magistrate kept listening, "There's the Seventh… the Sixth… the Fifth…" Suddenly the realization of what was happening dawned on the magistrate. He stood up and announced to the crowd that had gathered in the cemetery, "My fellow citizens, there's nothing to worry about. It's just Beethoven decomposing."
Who's there? "Yah" Yah who? ".com"
Well, I think she should look at the bigger picture.
No forks were given
Some are born with it while others have to get it pounded into them.
It's all fingering.
To cover its butt quack.
With tears in his eyes he says One would've been enough.
So that he has 3 squared meals per day
Edit: Thanks for the likes
After several dates, my girlfriend wanted me to meet her parents, so they invited me over for dinner. It did not go well…
During the meal, somebody started playing footsies with me under the table, then gradually moved up and kept rubbing until I came. Later, I told my girlfriend how much I had enjoyed the sexy play during dinner. She got so mad and said that it wasn't her. I guess I got off on the wrong foot.
She said, “You can’t do this to me!” I said, “I know… that’s why I’m doing it to her.”
The hobbit laughs and walks under it.
"I can't come today"
Everyone’s looking down, nobody’s making eye contact, and my penis is exposed.
Pete: "I want to be a pilot" Tommy: "I want to be a doctor" Margaret: "I want to be a good mother" Frank: "I want to help Margaret"
But when I do, he usually laughs
an Irish man answered his door to find a grim-faced constable waiting in the front yard. "We're sorry, Mr. O' Flynn, but we have some information about your dear wife, Maureen" said the officer. "Tell me! Did you find her?" Michael Patrick O'Flynn asked. The constable said, "I have some bad news, some good news, and some really great news. Which would you like to hear first?" Fearing the worst, Mr. O' Flynn said, "Give me the bad news first." The constable said, "I'm sorry to tell you, sir, but early this morning we found your poor wife's body in the bay." "Lord sufferin' Jesus and Holy Mother of God!" exclaimed O' Flynn. Swallowing hard, he asked,"What could possibly be the good news?" The constable continued, "When we pulled the late, departed poor Maureen up, she had 12 of the best-looking Atlantic lobsters that you have ever seen clinging to her. Haven't seen lobsters like that since the 1960's, and we feel you are entitled to a share in the catch." Stunned, Mr. O' Flynn demanded, "Glory be to God, if that's the good news, then what's the really great news?" The constable replied, "We're gonna pull her up again tomorrow."
It's called AD/BC
So I got it in Appleton, Wisconsin.
But, smoking bacon will cure it.
Now she just staring at the bushes confused wondering who said that.
Q: Why did the window frame hurt? A: It had window pains!
If you are not familiar with Beethoven's 9th Symphony it's a tremendous piece of work, but the bass line is atrocious. Not because it is complicated, but because it goes like this: "bbbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" And then approximately an hour an a half later it goes like this: "bbbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" And then there's a round of applause and everyone take their bows and and exits stage right. The conductor had a great idea though, and the basses practiced this in the weeks leading up to the concert. The would play their first note "bbbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" And then they would quietly lay down their basses on provided carpets, and exit the stage – waiting patiently to return an hour and a half later to play their final note: "bbbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" The night of the concert arrives, everyone is dressed to the nines (as is appropriate of course). The basses are shined and everyone is relaxed and ready. The conducter taps on his conducter's stand to get attention, raises his hands and with a gallant downstroke the basses play the ever living shit out of their note "bbbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" And then quietly lay down their instruments on the provided carpets and step behind the curtain. This is where things go awry, "Hey guys," says the lead bass "I have a great idea. There's a bar across the street and we have at least an hour and a half before we play our next note. Let's slip across and have a couple pints!" Everyone thinks this is a fantastic idea, so the entire section hops along to the bar and downs a couple pints. One of the second basses after a while gets a little conserned and asks the lead bass if it was time to go back. "No, we got time. See, I tied a string to the last page of the conductors score attached to a transciever. When he gets to that section I'll get a buzz on my phone and we can head back." Everyone thinks that this is brilliant so they knock back a few more pints before suddenly the lead bass stands up and announces it's time to go. They bounce back across the street, through the musicians entrance, and up to the curtain to peek through and sure enough, they're right on time. So they slip through, pick up their instruments and look up at the conductor and…he is angry. Super angry. Ready to bust a blood vessel angry. But you would be too wouldn't you? It was the bottom of the ninth, the basses were loaded, and the score was tied.
My bank account.
On the other hand, I’m okay.
It becomes theiranium.
There were a lot of red flags.
A man is showing his friend around his town. They pass a boy selling newspapers on the side of the road.
The man nudges his friend and says, "See that kid? He's got to be the stupidest kid in the whole wide world. Watch this." He walks up to the kid as his friend watches, and holds out a five dollar and a ten dollar bill. "Hey kid, pick one." The kid looks between the notes and eventually takes the five dollar bill. The man laughs and pockets the other note and walks back to his friend, still laughing. "See what I mean?" he says, shaking his head. "Every damn time. Stupid kid never learns." His friend is puzzled, but doesn't say anything. Later in the evening he decides to take a stroll alone and spots the boy again. Curiosity overcomes him, and he goes over and asks, "Hey kid, why do you keep taking the five dollar bill every time?" "Because, mister, the day I take the ten dollar bill, the game ends."