What's all the racket?

I saw a large crowd gather outside my home this morning. First I thought the police had surrounded me, then I started hearing chanting. Great: Protestors. I threw on some pants and stowed my camera in a backpack. Once on the street, I could see hundreds of people lined up, heading down town. What the hell are they up to and why couldn't they do this at a more convenient hour? Like Noon? I was trying to sleep, and thus don't care about your damn cause because I'm too damn tired. I started reading the signs and T-shirts when I got into the thick of it. Apparently they want less f*cked up government and more money. Right on, I can dig that. But then they break out this relic of a folk singer who starts playing crappy polkas and line dances about getting arrested for your morals and comparing her battle to that of anti-slavery and pro-suffrage groups. Hooey. Hooey, I say. No one is listening to you. No one cares, Ms. Guitar Lady. The difference between your movement and those movements is you aren't willing to fight for them. Abolitionists at had the right mind to whoop asses and smuggle people out of the country; they didn't sit outside the capitals of South Carolina and Georgia and bitch and moan.