The Shoulders We Stand On

I have 1,653 Facebook friends. Scrolling through my newsfeed today, I've seen roughly 12 posts about the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I have literally seen more pictures of David Bowie today than recognition of Dr. King.

I've seen that video of that hamster tucked into a blanket eating a carrot for the fifteenth time. I've seen about 89 things about Harry Potter that aren't even related to the loss of Alan Rickman. I've seen my idiot ex's drugged out face. I've seen the new (terrible) haircut of a man I'm terrified of and have gone out of my way to avoid. And I've seen the same damn video about how to create bacon cheese egg muffins, which, frankly, are wholly unnecessary.

And 12 posts about Dr. King.

What the actual fuck?

This man's bravery is inimitable. He was a martyr in the truest sense of the word: he died for his cause. He fought for change through peace and wisdom, knowing full well that he would die for it. He did it anyway. How many people do you know of that have fervently devoted themselves to a cause for the greater good, directly, unabatedly conscious every morning when they woke up that their lives would come to an end for it? I can think of three off the top of my head. One of them was a contemporary of Dr. King's. The other one died a few thousand years ago, and I'm pretty sure that the majority of the people in this country have his unauthorized biography on their shelves.

I'm not saying that Dr. King should be worshipped. He was a man, after all, and carried a man's vices with him even as he brought change down upon this world. But his bravery should be admired. The revolutionary political figure accepts that they might be assassinated. Black men walk to the grocery store at night, afraid that they might be assassinated. He knew. Without a doubt. And he did it all anyway.

"Pictured here is one of the last pictures of Dr Martin Luther King's loyal lieutenants inspecting their leader's mortal remains one last time.
January 12, 1929 - April 4, 1968. Dr. King was 39 years old at the time of his death. Lest we forget..."
—Chuck Hobbs

I have more white sisters and brothers than I can count. And I guarantee that had Dr. King not been born, I would not have those sisters and brothers, and they would not have me. Not in the way that they do. Not in the way that I do. My grandmother, born in 1925, couldn't vote when she came of age. And yet, she lived to see a man elected President of the United States who was the same race as she. Would that have happened for her without Dr. King's work? Would life as it is happen if not for his achievements? Look down, everyone. We stand on his shoulders, and on the shoulders of everyone before him.

I've shared this jarring, ugly photo as a reminder. This country rarely, if ever, gives all 100% of its citizens a common something to appreciate. But it has given us this day to remember that Dr. King was born, and what he did for all of us in his short life.

"We shall overcome someday." He believed that fully, and we of course have infinite chances to. But we haven't yet. Almost 50 years after this man laid down his life, we haven't. His life, and death, is not for nothing, not by any means. But if I met him right now, after all that he'd done, I would be ashamed to tell him that everything has changed and yet nothing has.

His death is not fresh in anyone's minds. It was half a century ago. But today, it should be.

Everyone's an Asshole

After an evening of cookie dough, J. Lo movies, and subsequent night terrors, I decided maybe I needed to take a break from the train wreck that is my subconscious and look to some media that is based in reality. Clearly, the best way to do that is to go on Facebook.

So I waded through adorable videos of deer frolicking with puppies, pictures of creative cupcakes and other various snacks, and the rantings about other people's insomnia. I also found out that, according to BuzzFeed's assessment of my taste in movies, I appear to be 69 years old.

Then I came across something useful.

I, along with many other decent individuals of America, have been pretty up in arms these days. "AGAIN?" you might ask incredulously. "What NOW?!" Well, my friends, it's about the Religious Freedom Restoration Act, signed in Indiana on Thursday. Theoretically, it "promotes religious freedom" within business establishments...but is, in practice, just a vehicle for discrimination. Own a business? Believe in a god that frowns upon homosexuality? Well, now (yet again) it is TOTALLY fine for you to be like, "We don't take kindly to your folk around here, do we, Skeeter?" and then turn those patrons away.

Okay so first of all it just speaks volumes to me that in a business context, being able to discriminate is more important than capital. This country BREATHES financial profit. I mean, of course, those entrepreneurs that are interested in utilizing this bill in this way probably can afford to turn down a few customers here and there, but still...

Okay but then also. The author of this little article in the Washington Post helpfully points out that several states already have RFRAs in place (pictured below in the darker green: Alabama, Arizona, Connecticut, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Mississippi, Missouri, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, terrifying-ass Tennessee, Texas, and Virginia). I'd like to think that Connecticut, PA, and Rhode Island use their powers for good, because Northeast bias, but what do I know.

Anyway, the amount of state-wide Religious Freedom Restoration Acts was a fact that I definitely was blissfully unaware of. Miley Cyrus was too. Me and Miley just didn't know. According to our guy at the Washington Post, our ignorance means we're kind of assholes, which actually pisses me off. To a certain extent, ignorance is not a choice. I know a hell of a lot about a hell of a lot, but even being relatively well-informed, there are things I do not know. And you know Miley be scannin Facebook at midnight lookin at cupcakes and bunny rabbits too, so it's not like she don't have the opportunity. We just didn't know! Wikipedia didn't tell me! HuffPo didn't even ASK if I wanted to know!

I've strayed.

Much to my amusement, this particular RFRA has hilariously backfired with the establishment of the First Church of Cannabis. (Unrelated to this fiasco, there are other churches in and around cannabis as the tree of life in California and Hawaii, and likely a bunch of others I don't know about. But I should like to know about them, my friends, I should like to know.)

This entire disaster has, however, inspired me to really bring focus to the manner with which I look at and make a difference in the world. I've created a whole philosophy, and I invite anyone to join me and read the holy text I am about to make up real quick, which you can purchase for just 24 easy monthly payments of $19.95.

Henceforth: as of 3:32 AM on this Monday, the 30th of March, in the year of KB 2015, I have established a church called The Church of No Bigotry, You Motherfuckers. (The name might change. But you know what? It might not.)
Commandment I: Into discrimination? Y'all ain't sittin at MY lunch counter.
Commandment II: Incidentally, in this particular religion, the lunch counter, where one orders milkshakes and french fries, also doubles as an altar.
Commandment III: Don't be mean to other people about their ignorance. Instead, share what you know through witty blog posts. If they don't get the underlying sarcasm, it's their own damn fault.
Commandment IV: NO MANIPULATION! Of ANY kind. If I catch you using the CoNBYM commandments to trick some poor soul somewhere, you gone get smote right quick.

These are the rules. I found them written on a post-it note underneath the trash on my living room floor, so they're all definitely true. I imagine that in about 1,000 years they may need to be adjusted according to cultural evolution, especially since half of the world will be underwater by then (and who knows, maybe all the assholes will go with it), but these are the rules. You want your religious freedom, you got it, but don't be a dick about it. And just a reminder: it is milkshakes and fries. Period. Don't be tryina substitute onion rings or complain about lactose intolerance and go for a soda instead. And NO DIPPING your fries into the milkshake chalice. Just take a big gulp and pass it down the line. We're all gonna get swine flu anyway.

That's pretty much it.

Oh, and while we're at it, Commandment 5: your ability to walk in front of my car to cross the street for no reason is a privilege, not a right. And if you ain't careful you gone get smeared on Gert's pretty little bumper and NO ONE WILL BE SORRY. There is no need for road rage repentance in my religion.

Maybe it shouldn't be called The Church of No Bigotry, You Motherfuckers. Maybe it's just a way of life called "everyone's an asshole, but maybe just try to not be one...but if you don't put in the effort I will totally hate you."

But really, in all seriousness, the Blog of KBizzle is a safe place. Believe what you need to believe, learn what you can, be who you are. I'm just a humor writer from the school of Seth MacFarlane and Trey Parker and Matt Stone, and I WILL make fun of EVERYTHING.

PS: Hey, thanks, Christians, for rolling with my punches. You're good sports. But if you can't take it, just try a maple cream milkshake from Local Burger and tell me that that is not the nectar of the gods.