A TEXT POST

spaceghettocomics said: Hi John. I've been wondering since 1990: how does listening to a racist babble on at a party make the narrator feel like a hypocrite? Does that mean the narrator is saying he agrees with the racist, when he really doesn't? If that's the case, why is the narrator agreeing instead of telling the racist to get bent?

tmbgareok:

I kind of understand how you could have gotten there, but actually the song is really the opposite of that. The song is about the general social pressure to “get along” and not argue with someone even though they are spouting off some messed up shit. (like especially if it’s a stranger, like especially if its in a public place) To momentarily suppress my values in order to not get into a fight makes me question the consistency of my ethics—and that seems like the definition of hypocritical. But its also something quite familiar as this is a complicated, shitty world. And thus, the song. Hope that clears things up.

Reblogged from TMBG are OK
A PHOTO

Eleganza posing with multiple Co-op logos. Went there for snacks only instead of gas for once. #thankful

A PHOTO

Colour-coded SF streets as seen from @Twitter #cuckoo meeting room.

A PHOTO

vintagegal:

Happy Birthday Joan Jett (September 22, 1958) (via)

Badass

A PHOTO

Sweet rides!

Reblogged from Vintage Campers
A PHOTO

hoyneriver:

Brutal anecdote from The Invisible Bridge from Reagan’s son Michael:

The next year, at Michael’s high school graduation the commencement speaker was his father. Afterward Reagan made the rounds of students for introductions. He stopped before one, stuck out his hand: “My name is Ronald Reagan. What’s yours?” His son, anxious every day of his life about whether his adoptive father truly accepted him, took off his mortarboard and responded, “Remember me? I’m your son Mike.”

Jeez

Reblogged from Retro Campaigns
A PHOTO

weirdvintage:

A woman riding an alligator in the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum.  The alligator is evidently the team mascot, c 1930s (via Los Angeles Public Library)

Up to you what F stands for.

Reblogged from Weird Vintage