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Humor

MIGHT AS WELL JUST SURRENDER TO THE MADNESS

You see the insanity all around, seemingly everywhere you turn; the government aimlessly trying to find its bearings in the face of weird crisis after weird crisis, their opposition that was kicked out of office losing their marbles completely and seeing devils and witches at their windows, the assembled media absolutely shrieking gibberish at the moon, the insane Twitter craze, Reality TV, wars that run longer than the TV series “M*A*S*H,” golfers (!) making the front pages of newspapers like they were actual athletes, it’s all too much. You resist and rail against it and point out the madness to whoever will listen, vowing to remain a beacon of sanity in a mad world until everyone comes to their senses again.

It’s a lonely calling but you’re determined to keep a light on in the window. So you wait. And wait. And wait some more. Nothing. Then you look out your window and you see clowns, leprechauns and unicorns leading a parade down Main Street and all your neighbors are marching along! In tutus, no less, playing air trombone! And then it hits you like a ton of bricks: it’s not going to get any better. The madness is here to stay. Maybe that Mad Cow Disease affected more than just Elsie and company, you’re thinking. Maybe it’s my turn now, who am I to think I’m immune? And so you surrender to the universal madness. Maybe some of these things cross your mind:

Is being a member of the PGA governing body anywhere near as prestigious as sitting on The National Potato Board or the American Milk Council? And which of the three is the most exciting post?

If Jesus was God’s son, why didn’t he just use his X-Ray vision to toast the Romans when they started brandishing the cat-o-nine-tails?

Do the aliens that abduct humans ever really ask to see our leader? Seems like they’re pretty satisfied with trailer trash. They must admire the mullets.

Since the French were nice enough to give us the Statue of Liberty, couldn’t we give them something nice in return, like saving them when there’s a war, maybe taking that pesky Vietnam off their hands? Never mind…

Do British people use that cool accent when we’re not listening? Think maybe they’re messing with our heads and they really sound like folks from Philly when they’re hanging around with each other?

Are famous authors required to wear corduroy sport jackets with elbow patches and turtlenecks while smoking a pipe? The goatees seem optional.

Exactly what is Indie rock independent of, and what is Alternative an alternative to? These maladjusted nerds look and sound remarkably alike. Or maybe they’re just actors playing a part and the music is all made by the same studio cats in Seattle? Seems logical…

Maybe you start wondering if any emergency room ever treated an old man for an erection lasting longer that four hours? Seems like the last thing Gramps would complain about. More likely he’d parade around the front yard pantsless for a while to impress the neighbors, maybe tie a ribbon on it.

Wasn’t the whole beauty of Afghanistan and the Taliban the fact that we don’t live there? You know, not really having to think all that much about people reluctant to join the sixteenth century, never mind current times? Now they’re in the headlines more than the Octomom.

You wonder about all these kids learning to play soccer and figure that’s just training for facing a future of living frustrating, meaningless lives. They run back and forth willy-nilly for a couple of hours kicking a ball while maniacal adult coaches scream gibberish at them and goad them on, not even getting to use their damned hands, maybe scoring one goal between the fifty or sixty¬† of them out there shouting and running and kicking each other in the shins, not really knowing exactly what the heck is the point of this whole futile exercise. They are never permitted even once to pause and take stock of the situation, maybe decide as one to just walk away from such madness and go play baseball or shoot some hoops or something, where at there’s at least some skill and strategy involved, and a game with a clear objective. And yet, the government does nothing about it.

Maybe you start wondering if you’re getting enough anti-oxidants, that you should be more the picture of vibrant health like Larry King. Maybe consider drinking a couple of quarts of red wine every day.

You start believing that Yosemite Sam and Donald Trump are real people.

You figure that talk shows tell you all you need to know about show business and politics. You decide to run for President of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences as a maverick independent with a program for real reform. You go door to door vowing to ban romantic comedies and teen movies from receiving Oscar nominations and proposing stiff prison terms for Harry Potter look-alikes. You win in a landslide.

You wonder why Oprah doesn’t do a show on the heartbreak of psoriasis.

You create a reality TV show set in Texas called “Two Thumbs Down,” where contestants vie for the right to pull the switch on the electric chair, giving host George Bush The Younger a huge career boost returning to the only activity at which he excelled – executing subnormal teenagers. He will carefully “review” each death sentence, consisting of a quick glance, a dramatic double thumbs down, then his signature rendered in several different colored crayons, “Presidentiatory Style!” At the end of each show, one lucky winner gets to throw the switch. The show buries “American Idol” in the ratings race.

You put in your application to the Federal Government to become a judge on one of their “Death Panels” hoping to be seated next to Paula Abdul.

You organize a ragged mob armed with torches and pitchforks and storm a White Castle, shouting for the head of Dr. Franken-Phil.

You invent aluminum foil solar panels to be placed on one’s forehead to power iPods, pacemakers and beer can hats, wearing it everywhere you go. No one notices.

Maybe you decide that there really is something to that whole Twitter craze and you send out the same message over and over again, 50 times a day: “What coherent message can I possibly send to anybody in one hundred and forty characters or less? This makes absolutely no sense at all and is completely and utterly ridicu” You gain the largest following on Twitter.

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