Bomber two is dead, apparently. Or is it suspect number one? How disappointing, all those resources impotent to stop the evil doers before the fact, and so slow to grab them after. All those cameras, sniffing dogs, and trained eyes on the ground. Oh well, the reports for each other to read will be written, read, and recycled. I can be forgiven my cynicism: I am but one voice in a culture of a third of a billion people. If a few ones and twos get their legs blown off in the great struggles of the vote buying factions, the Diversity, the Downtrodden, the Never Workers ... what care they?
They do care. You can see them with menthol inspired tears as they are interviewed by their main stream media friends. Who cares about that? The salient realization is the fact that we are no longer a We, but a diversity of tribes. Did your tribe get their legs blown off in Boston? People care, in the way of reading newspapers or checking on sports scores, but, well, not even that. The expectation of terror now sits comfortably in our hearts. When I mentioned the Boston massacre to them, their first reaction was I do not attend large events like that. Not their tribe. What tribe attends public events, now a days? Travels in the ghetto? Leaves their door unlocked. Not you. Nobody you know.
The bad guys will get killed or caught. The usual causes will be marketed. The only way to stop pressure cooker bombers is to ban assault weapons, fund abortion, and implement gay marriage. The guy you voted for on a platform of cutting spending will raise taxes and increase spending. Why vote? There is an illegal immigrant amnesty coming. Why not dig deeper into the tax free black market. Why pay taxes to support never workers? Black is beautiful. Such is the reflections from the subconscious from the Rorschach bomber.
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