#15,167 in Literature & fiction books
Use arrows to jump to the previous/next product

Reddit mentions of True Allegiance

Sentiment score: 1
Reddit mentions: 1

We found 1 Reddit mentions of True Allegiance. Here are the top ones.

True Allegiance
Buying options
View on Amazon.com
or
    Features:
  • These mid-waist yoga leggings are designed with squat-proof, quick-drying, stretchy, breathable, non see-through material. When you bend, squat or lunge, our performance leggings will wick away sweat to keep you cool
  • Big side pockets are available for 4", 4.7", 5", 5.5" mobile phone. Mini inner pocket for storage of card, keys, etc
  • BALEAF women's mid-waist yoga leggings with elastic waistband provides a smooth, secure fit, always keep comfy moving and staying up even after long workouts
  • Perfect for running, yoga, jogging, workout, weightlifting, indoor, cycling and other active pursuits or lounging
  • Gusseted crotch for full range of movement. "x" & "Y" are different in lines and inseam. Choose them according to yourself
Specs:
Number of items1
Release dateNovember 2016

idea-bulb Interested in what Redditors like? Check out our Shuffle feature

Shuffle: random products popular on Reddit

Found 1 comment on True Allegiance:

u/tequila0341 · 43 pointsr/neoliberal

He should be banned from polite society just for the writing on display in this:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01LVYP4GR/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1

>Brett Hawthorne was the youngest general in the American military. He’d grown up lower middle class in Chicago, his mother a teacher, his father a salesman for the local phone company. When his dad lost his job, the family moved from the more expensive North Side to the South Side of Chicago—poorer, industrial, and heavily black.
>He’d been a shy kid, gentle, quiet, built like a reed. But he learned one skill pretty quickly at Thomas Edison High: how to talk his way out of a bad situation.


>That, he learned from Derek.


>On the second day of school, Brett was sitting by himself at lunch. He wasn’t one of the Irish kids, and he wasn’t one of the Italian kids, so he couldn’t sit with those cliques. And he’d made the mistake the day before of trying to befriend a couple of the black kids. That hadn’t gone well. He’d ended up with a black eye and a few new vocabulary words to add to his dictionary.


>So today, he sat alone. Until he made the mistake of looking up. Standing above him, glaring at him, was a behemoth, a black kid named Yard. Nobody knew his real name—everybody just called him Yard because he played on the school football team, stood six foot five, clocked in at a solid two hundred eighty pounds, and looked like he was headed straight for a lifetime of prison workouts. The coach loved him. Everybody else feared him.


>If Brett hadn’t looked up, everything would have worked out just fine. But then again, he didn’t have much choice, given that Yard grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him out of his seat like a rag doll.


>Then Yard mumbled something in his face.


>“What?” said Brett.


>“I said,” Yard growled, “did you just call me nigger? Because I just heard you call me nigger.”


>The entire room turned to watch the impending carnage.


>Yard’s hand came down on Brett’s shoulder, heavy as doom. Brett could feel his bowels begin to give way when a smallish hand emerged on Yard’s shoulder. A black hand. Yard swiveled ponderously to face down the person connected with the hand.


>A small person, slim, wearing glasses and a wide smile across his face.


>“Yard, man,” he said, “he didn’t call you nigger.”


>“What you talking about, Derek?” rumbled Yard.


>“It was me, man! I called you nigger.”


>Yard looked puzzled. “No,” he said slowly, “it was the white boy.”


>“Oh, yeah, man,” said Derek. “It was. I’m white. You just mixed us up.” He moved around to stand next to Brett. “See? We’re twins. Identical. Anybody could mix us up. Even though I’m more handsome.”


>Yard’s eyes glazed over with confusion. The giggling started at the back of the room. Yard’s hands clenched and unclenched as the wave rose over the room, until the kids were slapping each other on the back. Yard’s fists closed tight.


>But as they did, Derek leaned forward, reached out, and lightly tapped Yard’s hands—and then started singing at the top of his lungs that Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder song, “Ebony and Ivory.” “Come on, sing with me, Yard! You be ebony, I’ll be ivory!”


>But Yard was backing away now, a look on his face asking, who is this nut job?


>Derek turned to Brett and continued singing.
And Brett smiled and crooned back, in warbled harmony.


This has it all. The wooden dialogue; the clunky, pretentious writing style; the barely sublimated terror of black people - it's a truly exemplary work of conservative literature.