I just spent a couple of days in Michigan with my parents. I don't think I've felt this close to them since I was a little girl. More on this family love fest later, but first:
This article is about a woman who was fired from her job. Why? Because she put a Kerry/Edwards sticker on her automobile and refused to remove it at her boss' demand. He fired her. What happened to free speech? To respecting someone's right to a differing opinion?
I have a Kerry/Edwards sticker on my car, too. I don't have a day job from which to get fired—at least, not really—yet I, too, had bumper-sticker trouble while driving to see my parents. I passed a red pickup truck, moved far ahead of the truck, signaled, and returned to the non-passing lane. I was singing along to the Magnetic Fields. It is impossible to give a dirty look while crooning "I'm the luckiest guy on the Lower East Side," which is why I knew I hadn't made any stinkface at the two twenty-something dudes in the red truck. Therefore, since I am a polite singing driver, I can say that it is only because of my John-boy bumper sticker that they then drove parallel to me. I looked over at them. They were giving me the bird and yelling "Four more years, bitch!"
What does that mean? Four more years until you finally decide to send away for a correspondence-school course in etiquette? Ugh.
This article is about a woman who was fired from her job. Why? Because she put a Kerry/Edwards sticker on her automobile and refused to remove it at her boss' demand. He fired her. What happened to free speech? To respecting someone's right to a differing opinion?
I have a Kerry/Edwards sticker on my car, too. I don't have a day job from which to get fired—at least, not really—yet I, too, had bumper-sticker trouble while driving to see my parents. I passed a red pickup truck, moved far ahead of the truck, signaled, and returned to the non-passing lane. I was singing along to the Magnetic Fields. It is impossible to give a dirty look while crooning "I'm the luckiest guy on the Lower East Side," which is why I knew I hadn't made any stinkface at the two twenty-something dudes in the red truck. Therefore, since I am a polite singing driver, I can say that it is only because of my John-boy bumper sticker that they then drove parallel to me. I looked over at them. They were giving me the bird and yelling "Four more years, bitch!"
What does that mean? Four more years until you finally decide to send away for a correspondence-school course in etiquette? Ugh.
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