I listen to people rant. They scream about the Federal Government. They scream about the State. They scream about the police affecting their rights.
And I look at them and think: Buddy, you’re looking at the telescope the wrong way round.
You want to see the real enemy? The real drain on your life? Start with the goddamn franchise grocery store on the corner. Start with the Taco Bell. Start with Home Depot.
The word “Franchise” means “Does Not Belong.” It means an outpost. It means that every dollar you spend there isn’t staying in your neighborhood to pay for a Little League jersey or a local plumber; it’s being vacuumed up and sent to a corporate office 2,000 miles away. It is an empty nest designed to collect your money and leave nothing behind but trash and minimum-wage depression.
The Aisles of Death
Walk through the grocery store. Really look at it.
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The Center Aisles: This is the chemical warfare division. Boxes and bags of “food” with four-syllable ingredients that don’t even know where they belong in nature. It’s not nutrition; it’s product. It’s designed to make you fat, keep you hungry, and eventually give you cancer.
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The Meat Aisle (Right Side): Look at that red, juicy hamburger. It’s dyed. It’s painted. It’s makeup on a corpse. And the “seafood”? Those “scallops” are protein capsules punched out of a sheet of white fish paste. It’s a science experiment, not a meal.
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The Produce Aisle (Left Side): Why is that apple shiny? Why does that lettuce last for 90 days? Because it’s embalmed. It’s sprayed with MSG and preservatives and wax. You aren’t eating fruit; you’re eating a chemistry set.
The Labor Theft
But here is the real kicker. The real economic homicide.
Back in the day, the grocery store was the community hub. It employed the Down Syndrome kid as a bagger, giving him purpose. It employed the single mom for six hours a day as a cashier so she could feed her kids. It employed the high schooler learning the value of a dollar.
Now?
You walk in. There are twelve registers. Eleven of them are closed.
They are herding you, like cattle, into the Self-Checkout pen.
They have cameras watching you. They have scales weighing your bananas. And you are doing the work. You are scanning. You are bagging. You are the cashier.
And here is the question nobody asks: Where is my paycheck?
If automation is the future, if I am doing the labor, why isn’t my bill 10% cheaper? Why am I not getting a discount for checking in my own baggage?
I’ll tell you why. Because that money—the money that used to pay the bagger, the mom, the cashier—is now pure profit. And it’s leaving your town tonight.
The Distraction
And yet, you keep doing it. You keep eating the McDonald’s. You keep voiding the Mom and Pop shops. You keep feeding the beast that is starving your community.
And you think you have the right to complain about Medicaid? About Medicare? About the Feds?
Clean your own goddamn room first.
Take care of your own shit. Look at the franchises in your neighborhood. If they aren’t employing your people, if they aren’t paying into your community, then tax them into the ground. Hit them with property taxes. Hit them with income taxes. If they want to extract wealth from your town without contributing to the labor force, take 40% of their income at the door.
That’s how you fix a country. You fix the block you live on.
Stop screaming about “Obama phones” and “Gay Rights.” Gay rights didn’t poison your apple. The corporation did.
Wake up, buddy. You’re eating the poison apple and complaining about the weather.
