I have done two previous posts on the 30 blocks of squalor. You can refresh your memory here:
Today there was a crane broken down in the construction zone on the Blue Route. I was forced to take my alternative route into the city through the 30 blocks of squalor for the first time in 3 months. You may find this shocking but I actually have something good to say. It appears that a few bucks of the stimulus money was spent well. All of Chestnut Street from 69th street to 39th street has been repaved. It is as smooth as a baby’s bottom. No more potholes the size of Jim Cramer’s head.
Now back to the show. As I was sitting at a long light at 69th Street, I observed the show going on around me. I swear to God that a girl with blue hair walked by on the street.
Then a pregnant white trash chick walked into the train station smoking a cigarette.
I was surrounded by the ignorant masses and I had a sudden urge to buy as much gold as possible. A sense of doom began to envelop me. But then I saw that Chestnut Street had been paved, so I brightened up. I was listening to the Talking Heads’ Greatest Hits and the lyric Stop Making Sense kept going through my brain.
The 30 block trek brought me back to reality. The streets were paved but the people and the houses hadn’t changed. These 30 blocks in West Philly were filled with hypocrisy and irony. It seemed like on every wall there was a beautiful mural of clean cut black people doing noble deeds, making discoveries, cleaning up their streets, and acting like upstanding citizens. When my eyes came off of the mural they saw bags of trash strewn on the streets, houses falling down, bars and gates on every window, black teenagers with tattoes, earings, and hats on sideways. The only commerce being conducted in this community is drug dealing. The few corner stores are run by Koreans, not black people. There are a number of churches to keep the masses sedated with promises of a better place after they get shot to death or die of an overdose.
As you get closer to 39th Street, commerce increases. There is a Toyota dealership. How many Toyota dealerships have their car display lot locked behind 8 foot fences with barbed wire at the top?
Just down the block we have the strip mall to the stars. It has all the high end retailers you would expect in this beautiful neighborhood:
- A 24 hour laundromat
- An Adult video store
- A Chinese takeout restaurant
- A Karate studio
- A pipe and “tobacco” establishment
- A US Navy Recruiting office
This community is considered thriving by the obamanistas if you just ignore the 50% unemployment, thousands of vacant commercial buildings, dilapidated falling down rat infested residential properties, trash strewn streets, rampant crime, drug use, welfare fraud and broken families. Besides that, what did you think of the play Mr. Lincoln?
When I passed 52nd Street I was reminded of the good deed I had done at Christmas. The Dean’s Office every year adopts a family in West Philly and collects money to buy gifts and necessities for the family. The two Administrative assistants had 7 huge bags of gifts and no way to get them to the family. I offered to drive them in my CRV. We pulled up to a huge tenament on 52nd Street in one of the poorer neighborhoods in the City of Philadelphia. Oddly, I pulled into a parking space behind a brand new Mercedes. We then proceeded to walk a half block to the building entrance with hundreds of dollars worth of stuff. Three white people in this neighborhood was an event. The building had no elevator and the family lived on the 3rd floor. We lugged our bags up and found the apartment and knocked. We heard noise in the apartment but no one answered. Then we heard the door handle jiggling and two people working on opening the door. Eventually the door opened. A black girl of about 17, a black boy of about 11 and two black kids of about 3 years old were in this dump. They needed a knife to open their own door from the inside. There appeared to be little or no heat from the broken baseboard heater. There was a tiny TV on the floor. No couches. No tables. No nothin. This was truly squalor. What really struck me was NO MOTHER, NO FATHER, NO DADDY WHO IMPREGNATED THE YOUNG GIRL, and no hope. Is this society’s fault? Or is it the fault of the black men who take no reponsibility for their actions. Should society pay for this irresponsibility? I don’t think so.
We brought all seven bags of stuff up and tried to make small talk. It was impossible. It was like we were from different planets. I don’t even think they said thank you. I felt sorry for their plight, but I left the apartment of squalor with an empty feeling. The seven bags of stuff weren’t going to help them get out of their prison. The only way for these people to succeed is for their community to expect and demand more from their men. Siphoning off more taxes and handing it to these people will solve nothing. And that is all I have to say about that.
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