In an effort to further involve and engage the Austin music, artistic, business and government communities, Austin Vida will occasionally publish guest columns submitted by community members. These columns reflect the opinions of their authors and not necessarily those of the Austin Vida staff or ownership. Gracias, Austin.
An Open Letter to
Andrew Joseph Stack III
by Becky Ozuna,
lead singer of Frenetica
Regarding the man who
intentionally crashed his
plane into an IRS building
Dear Andrew Joseph Stack III,
I realize that you are dead and can’t read this, but I would like to make the universe aware of what I’m thinking. You’re not the only one with a manifesto, buddy.
First of all, can you say fail when it comes to your attempt at domestic terrorism? Gawd. A seven-story building filled with 200 people, and you only kill one? I’ve heard of old people mistaking their gas pedals for their brakes and taking out more people than that. Lame. Oh yeah, and the main IRS building in Austin is on I-35 and Ben White. Have you ever heard of Google?
Oh, and wow, hating the IRS—what a novel idea. What’s next? Waging a war on Austin’s 5 p.m. rush hour? How about flying a plane into Monday mornings? Everybody hates them; get in line. Your self-important attitude shows that you are no better than those greedy bastards you claim to hate. Maybe you could take a look inside yourself. You baby-boomers do what you can to live this ridiculous “American Dream,” get married, get great job, have a kid, buy a $232,000, 2,500-square-foot home in northwest Austin to impress your friends and family, buy a freaking plane, then get pissed at the world when, surprise… these types of things don’t magically make you happy!
Quit your bitching. Wah, wah. “Tax laws cost me $40,000.” Hey, I have an idea on how you could have saved about that much money. Don’t buy a private plane, you spoiled, rich asshole. Do you realize there is a fisherman in Indonesia who is living with a disease that makes him look like a tree? A fucking tree. Do you look like a tree? Well, you don’t look like anything now. But when you were alive did you look like a tree? I don’t think so. Sure, you weren’t the hottest guy on the block, but a tree you were not, my friend. There are people in this country who can’t buy a car, much less a plane. Hell, I had to check my bank account the other day to make sure I had enough money to buy a pillow. Yes, a pillow. A pillow for my warm, comfy bed that I thank my lucky stars for every single time I get into because I have one and I know that there are people in this world that don’t. Because, unlike you, I am aware of how great my life is. There are so many things wrong with me, my house, my car, my dogs, my country, but I know that at any moment of the day there is some child is dying of malaria, dysentery or AIDS. Or getting their clitorises cut off somewhere in Sudan. Or they look like a tree. And because I don’t have to deal with any of those awful things, I am thankful.
Life isn’t fair, and no one owes you anything (shout out to my ninth-grade English teacher, Diane Harris, for instilling that lesson in me. Probably the best thing you taught me). In life, you have to compromise. America is not the best country to live in. I get it. Our tax laws suck; there is not enough regulation on big banks and credit cards that steal our money; politicians are corrupt assholes who will say anything for campaign contributions and could care less for their constituents, and every single day our civil liberties get slimmer. But are we Mexico, with an even more corrupt government that turns a blind eye to drug killings on a daily basis? I don’t think so. Are we Haiti, with no infrastructure to begin with, much less after a devastating earthquake? No. Are we France, that is full of a bunch of French people? No, so things could be much worse.
No one will ever disagree with you that those corrupt bank executives that walked away with millions from the bailout are the lowest form of humanity. No one. But there is one thing that the little people of the U.S.A. have that those rich pricks don’t: our souls. At the end of the day, we can sleep at night knowing that happiness comes from within, and really isn’t that what really counts in this game we all call life?
And my guess is that you did this to make some bold statement. Guess what? This is America. We have the attention spans of mentally retarded gnats (shout out to my 10th-grade history teacher Judy King for teaching me such an awesome insult). Before the end of the week, a Karsdashian might get pregnant and you’ll be the last thing on our Twitter trending topics. Tiger Woods just held a press conference to apologize for fucking every pancake waitress in America, and now no one even knows who you are anymore. And don’t flatter yourself with the fact that you’ve captured my attention long enough to write about you. I just wrote an article about onions. Yes, onions. The only people who think you’re a hero is the Austin local news affiliates. They really couldn’t have asked for anything better than a plane flying into a building during February sweeps!
If you really wanted to make a statement, how about using your skills to track down one of those fat cats who got away with your money and killing them? Not an innocent 67-year-old office manager from Cedar Park with dimples. The man had dimples; it doesn’t get much cuter than that. Now your tax money is going to pay out his government life insurance claim to his survivors. Way to go. What is that going to accomplish other than make you look like an asshole? Nothing.
I agree America needs a movement to make a statement that we are no longer going to put up with the government taking money from the poor to pay the rich. But, let’s face it, you really sucked at it.