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desolatesolarity wrote

Hey piiiiiggyyy...bet you're hunnnngryyyy....been out there all day! you know, i threw a whole tin of donuts out. Yeah, just for you boo! They're shrinkwrapped and everything! Bet you want some.

opens out liveleak app

finna get me some CLOUT baby!

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Hibiscus_Syrup wrote

Here it gets locked in dumpsters and kept within walls until pickup day, to ensure that hungry people don't hang around nearby.

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kin wrote

Some sXe fellow told me that at a nearby "vegan meat" factory they used dump some of the production that didn't passed quality check and the people went there to collect those "imperfect" food, and now they just pour Lye and chemicals in order to render the food improper for consumption.

I will never get used to see this, people preventing other people to get food... Fuck this make me angry as heck

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yam wrote

Yea!

The decay spreads over the State, and the sweet smell is a great sorrow on the land. Men who can graft the trees and make the seed fertile and big can find no way to let the hungry people eat their produce. Men who have created new fruits in the world cannot create a system whereby their fruits may be eaten. And the failure hangs over the State like a great sorrow.

The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And met with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains.

And the smell of rot fills the country.

Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putrescence drip down into the earth.

There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificates— died of malnutrition— because the food must rot, must be forced to rot.

The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quicklime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

That said, apart from the two bottles of orange juice, the bin in the photo is filled with flesh.

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