Sorry, but we just have to expound a bit on our esteemed Subotai’s find in his post below. It is simply too full of irony and Occutard Epic FAIL to let pass. Also, in case some Occutard browses by (assuming that he/sh/it hasn’t had his/her/its $5,000 laptop stolen yet), we’re sure that he/sh/it would like to know what the Glorious Leadership is up to while the useful idiot rank and file of the National Temper Tantrum are huddled in tents, freezing their arses off and trying not to catch a communicable disease.
A key Occupy Wall Street leader and another protester who leads a double life as a businessman ditched fetid tents and church basements for rooms at a luxurious hotel that promises guests can “unleash [their] inner Gordon Gekko,” The Post has learned.
The $700-per-night W Hotel Downtown last week hosted both Peter Dutro, one of a select few OWS members on the powerful finance committee, and Brad Spitzer, a California-based analyst who not only secretly took part in protests during a week-long business trip but offered shelter to protesters in his swanky platinum-card room.
Forget for a moment the sweet, sweet irony of the Occutards hanging out with one of Teh Enemy™ and let us focus, instead, upon Peter Dutro, as shining an example of hypocrisy and corruption as you’ll ever find in the leadership of a “people’s movement.”
Meanwhile, Dutro, 35, one of only a handful of OWS leaders in charge of the movement’s $500,000 in donations, checked in on Wednesday, the night after police emptied Zuccotti Park.
That would be the half a million bucks that Dutro and his fellow Orwellian pigs are hanging onto with a tight-fistedness that would make Scrooge McDuck blush with embarrassment. But, of course, at $700/night and sandwiches costing $18 a pop, that money won’t last very long if they’re just handed out to the “protesters” that it was donated to.
While hundreds of his rebel brethren scrambled to find shelter in church basements, Dutro chose the five-star, 58-story hotel, with its lush rooms and 350-count Egyptian cotton sheets. He lives only a short taxi ride away in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn.
“Taxi?” That’s for proles. Surely the W can rustle up a limo ride for one of Teh People’s Chosen Ones?
“I knew everything was going to be a clusterf–k in the morning,” he told The Post, alluding to Occupy’s own disruption plans. “How would I get over the bridge when they were shutting it down?”
We’re sure many of your “comrades” asked themselves that very question as they were trying to rub the sleep out of their eyes in the morning, getting the circulation in their extremities rolling and scratching the lice in their hair. But then again, they don’t have half a million bucks, do they?
The tattoo artist-turned-Occupy money man took the elevator up to the fifth-floor welcome desk, where a disc jockey spins tunes and guests enjoy a vista of the growing freedom tower.
He said he spent $500 of his own money to get the room because he wanted a good night’s rest ahead of the cause’s two-month ceremony the next day and raucous post-raid protests.
Oh sure you did. After all, which tattoo artist/occasional student doesn’t have that kind of money laying around to spend on five star hotel rooms?
“I knew . . . there was a high probability of getting arrested,” he said.
And that just won’t do when you’re one of Teh Chosen Ones™. That’s what the Useful Idiots are for, don’t you know?
“I wanted a nice room.
Unlike your “comrades” who were more than happy and content with the possibility of a corner of a damp basement somewhere.
That’s OK. Not everybody there is dirt poor.”
Particularly not the chief pigs sitting on half a million bucks of their money.
Occupiers told The Post that they witnessed other General Assembly and group leaders stay in both the W Downtown and the Marriott Hotel — and said that key players were not present when cops stormed Zuccotti.
Of course they weren’t! They were busy at an all-you-can-eat lobster and champagne buffet somewhere, doing Teh People’s Business™.
Now storm those police barricades again, peasants! The revolution won’t fight itself, you know.
Ever get the feeling you’ve been played, Occutards?
No? Give it a bit, it’ll come to you eventually. And then you’ll have all of the rest of your lives to cherish the butt-hurt.