It’s a tragedy that happens every day – but it doesn’t have to be that way. Please reach deep in your pockets to help the extremely wealthy, with American Gold Cross.
From Central America comes this ballad that’s fast rising the Latin American charts. It’s all about the dangerous Death Train that Central American drug war refugees ride on their way across Mexico enroute to El Norte. In Spanish they call the train The Beast — La Bestia.
And who is the man behind this music? It’s a name we all love, but who knew he could sing!? This track comes from Uncle Sam, who hired an ad agency to make a hit record.
(PNS reporting from LOS ANGELES) Repercussions from the Zimmerman acquittal — which officially confirmed suspicions that nighttime walks to the store by brown and black children are risky, potentially fatal excursions — are already hurting area youngsters, according Avian-American activists.
“Trayvon Martin was just a kid walking home from the local store with Tribbles and a drink, and he ended up dead. That’s troubling,” said Southern California Birds of A Feather (BOAF) regional director The Rev. Al Pigeon (photo) in carrier email to PNS. “Now Moms are afraid to let their kids go out and my flock is having a hard time making a living.”
“Where do you think our food comes from?” he wrote. “Berries? Minnows in the Los Angeles River? Delivery from Urban Spoon? Don’t be a bird brain! Our loaves and Pepperidge Farm Goldfish are out on the street. If it wasn’t for Spittles and Flamin’ Hot Dingoes crumbs on the well-trod path between home and the 7-Eleven we’d have shit to eat. Now that’s what we call a ‘Valley of the Shadow of Death!’ And what about the children?”
East Los BOAF chapter head Popocatepetl Paloma agreed.
Don’t worry, says MR. POCHO. And be happy.
Take me to a gallery opening or a new artisan bakery or something dick-less, por plis.
If I judged boys by dick pics, my dance card would be filled with Stiff, Vein-y and Ugly. And that means you, Eduardo. Stop it!
Signed, Just an old-fashioned girl, I guess
Dear Old-Fashioned Whiner,
Let’s be honest, we all know you swoon over the low-res cell-cam photos. I’d even bet your cell phone is set on vibrate and kept tucked in your chonies, cochina.