Uranium posted:

Camden Dimplethorpe was feeling the Bern, and it was only 462 days into the Sanders presidency.

The online news magazine Camden worked for was a friendly, relaxed place, but it was unionized (like all news organizations) and this limited the amount of time he could spend working there at 30 hours a week, resulting in many evenings free to spend at home, but Camden did not know what to do with himself but worry, feeling the walls of his luxury one-bedroom apartment closing in on him.

He had even more time to himself after his wife left him. She no longer replied to his emails. He knew that she left once economic conditions made it much easier for her to not depend on him on sharing housing and other cost-of-living expenses, as she must have when he had a job at the Center for American Progress.

In previous years, he might have spent his time managing his personal retirement or health accounts, but these were no longer necessary. He missed the thrill of entering his personal information on healthcare.gov and picking the right healthcare plan for him, which reminded him of his favorite Paradox Interactive games, but this was replaced with a co-pay-less yearly checkup by a competent doctor with a Cuban accent.

Deciding he had nothing better to do with his time, Camden walked out of his once-new luxury condo (tax abatement: expired) in the Bedford Hill neighborhood of Brooklyn. The streets were emptied of cars, replaced with parents of all races chit-chatting with each other as their children played in the middle of the road. The future of driverless cars taxiing commuters had been aborted, replaced by one of vulgar mass transportation.

Approaching the hip dive bar, he remembered it was once an Iberian-style tapas restaurant. After investment bankers no longer had the F-U money to pursue their quixotic dreams of sophisticated, unprofitable restaurants, establishments had to appeal to the common person. Now it was filled with art students, graphic designers, activists, and other sorts of bohemians who wasted their youth on frivolous pursuits rather than polishing their resumes and climbing the corporate ladder. These patrons, no longer constrained by the societal codes of the American heartland from which they emigrated, expressed themselves in a multitude of identities. Camden shook his head at their refusal to ameliorate the suburban and rural towns they came from, worsening the political divide, and depriving those regions of their entrepreneurial talents. After walking through the door, Camden sat down at an empty stool. A poster on the wall advertised a semi-weekly stand-up show called "Funny Moms", but Camden doubted that any actual moms would be hosting it.

The bar's TV was set to C-SPAN. Back in the old days, no one paid attention to important political events, like the yearly State of the Union address, the funeral service of Senator John McCain, or the impeachment of formed President Donald Trump, but now the hoi poloi were fascinated by watching citizens' special committees hold hearings on matters of public concern, or berating the former pillars of meritocracy under sworn testimony, for their complicity in price-gouging, financial fraud, and economic exploitation.

This evening, however, the TV displayed an ongoing speech by the current President, Bernard Sanders. Camden's disgust rose at his indecorous manner, unsophisticated regional accent, and characteristically rumpled suit.

Turning from the TV, Camden asked the barkeep for a Michelob Ultra. Those are no longer in stock, they replied. Camden sighed and ordered a foreign pilsner instead. Wholesome American beers were out of fashion since subsidies for the growing of corn dried up for big agribusiness, resulting in a proliferation in strange local micro-brews that offended Camden's palate.

The president was finishing up his speech, which Camden could tell by the cadences of oratory, but this speech was different. Rather than feel relief by the denouement, Camden's anxiety rose with the president's ardor. Standing behind him were Rep. Ilhan Omar, Rep. Rashida Tlaib, and Speaker Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. The solemn look on their faces could not completely mask their feeling of glee at what was to come. The liberal worried about where this speech was heading.

Then, the president then stood silent for a few seconds, looking gravely at the floor. Camden then watched the rumpled personage of Bernard Sanders, gesticulating his hands with his every word, enunciate the phrase: "All power to the Soviets!" The bar's patrons cheered, but Camden sank into his barstool.

Uranium posted:

Camden Dimplethorpe was feeling the Bern, and it was only 462 days into the Sanders presidency.

The online news magazine Camden worked for was a friendly, relaxed place, but it was unionized (like all news organizations) and this limited the amount of time he could spend working there at 30 hours a week, resulting in many evenings free to spend at home, but Camden did not know what to do with himself but worry, feeling the walls of his luxury one-bedroom apartment closing in on him.

He had even more time to himself after his wife left him. She no longer replied to his emails. He knew that she left once economic conditions made it much easier for her to not depend on him on sharing housing and other cost-of-living expenses, as she must have when he had a job at the Center for American Progress.

In previous years, he might have spent his time managing his personal retirement or health accounts, but these were no longer necessary. He missed the thrill of entering his personal information on healthcare.gov and picking the right healthcare plan for him, which reminded him of his favorite Paradox Interactive games, but this was replaced with a co-pay-less yearly checkup by a competent doctor with a Cuban accent.

Deciding he had nothing better to do with his time, Camden walked out of his once-new luxury condo (tax abatement: expired) in the Bedford Hill neighborhood of Brooklyn. The streets were emptied of cars, replaced with parents of all races chit-chatting with each other as their children played in the middle of the road. The future of driverless cars taxiing commuters had been aborted, replaced by one of vulgar mass transportation.

Approaching the hip dive bar, he remembered it was once an Iberian-style tapas restaurant. After investment bankers no longer had the F-U money to pursue their quixotic dreams of sophisticated, unprofitable restaurants, establishments had to appeal to the common person. Now it was filled with art students, graphic designers, activists, and other sorts of bohemians who wasted their youth on frivolous pursuits rather than polishing their resumes and climbing the corporate ladder. These patrons, no longer constrained by the societal codes of the American heartland from which they emigrated, expressed themselves in a multitude of identities. Camden shook his head at their refusal to ameliorate the suburban and rural towns they came from, worsening the political divide, and depriving those regions of their entrepreneurial talents. After walking through the door, Camden sat down at an empty stool. A poster on the wall advertised a semi-weekly stand-up show called "Funny Moms", but Camden doubted that any actual moms would be hosting it.

The bar's TV was set to C-SPAN. Back in the old days, no one paid attention to important political events, like the yearly State of the Union address, the funeral service of Senator John McCain, or the impeachment of formed President Donald Trump, but now the hoi poloi were fascinated by watching citizens' special committees hold hearings on matters of public concern, or berating the former pillars of meritocracy under sworn testimony, for their complicity in price-gouging, financial fraud, and economic exploitation.

This evening, however, the TV displayed an ongoing speech by the current President, Bernard Sanders. Camden's disgust rose at his indecorous manner, unsophisticated regional accent, and characteristically rumpled suit.

Turning from the TV, Camden asked the barkeep for a Michelob Ultra. Those are no longer in stock, they replied. Camden sighed and ordered a foreign pilsner instead. Wholesome American beers were out of fashion since subsidies for the growing of corn dried up for big agribusiness, resulting in a proliferation in strange local micro-brews that offended Camden's palate.

The president was finishing up his speech, which Camden could tell by the cadences of oratory, but this speech was different. Rather than feel relief by the denouement, Camden's anxiety rose with the president's ardor. Standing behind him were Rep. Ilhan Omar, Rep. Rashida Tlaib, and Speaker Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. The solemn look on their faces could not completely mask their feeling of glee at what was to come. The liberal worried about where this speech was heading.

Then, the president then stood silent for a few seconds, looking gravely at the floor. Camden then watched the rumpled personage of Bernard Sanders, gesticulating his hands with his every word, enunciate the phrase: "All power to the Soviets!" The bar's patrons cheered, but Camden sank into his barstool.

DaysBefore posted:

my_custom_username posted:

my_custom_username posted: