Everything you need to know about life you learned in kindergarten. So say a number of well-meaning people who obviously know absolutely nothing about today's world.
Seriously. You remember kindergarten. What did you learn? Sharing, making friends, obeying rules, playing fair, eating all the food on your plate, finger painting, nose picking—nothing about life in today's real world (besides maybe nose picking). No, those things, ladies and gentlemen, you actually learned in third grade.
You see, somewhere along the line between kindergarten and third grade, a seed begins to germinate and take root in the mind of children. This seed eventually grows into a tree we grownups term “maturity” or "grownupism" or “the right to stay up and watch what I want on TV when I want without anyone telling me to go to bed or else” or "I get to choose for myself what is right and wrong."
Kindergarteners and first graders are actually sweet, innocent, sharing, caring, fair playing, finger painting, nose pickers embarking on an intense journey of transformation and metamorphosis into the species of insane man-eating, vile, loathsome, selfish monsters also known as grownups. This odyssey is called life. We speak of and accelerate this character-altering sojourn when we say things to our pre-third graders like, “When are you going to grow up?” or “Can’t you imitate a mannequin for even five minutes?” or “Stop having fun with your Legos and start doing something productive like making biological weapons.”
Then we grownups go on doing our thing—imitating third graders—all the while hoping our kids will catch on to our "good traits" and say something like, “Greetings, master of the castle. May I please have the distinct honor of serving you by taking out the trash?” Little do we realize that if they were to truly imitate us (good and bad), they would be mumbling something under their breath as they walk away like, “I hope a piano falls on your head,” and connivingly con the two-year-old into taking out the trash for them while they sit in their bedroom reading comic books and eating bonbons. But that’s jumping ahead of the story, because the child is a kindergartener and has not yet "matured."
Enter third grade. It is a bountiful and abundant year for the grownup tree. It is the year when teachers and parents and the government all finally unite and decide to water and fertilize the maturity garden.
Third grade is like a miniature societal system where maturing children learn how to cope and thrive in the grownup’s dog-eat-dog world. It’s where the child’s imagination and all that the youthful mind dreams of doing or achieving gets squashed on the ceiling of aspiration’s repression like mac and cheese. It’s a demanding and rigorous boot camp created for developing the “mature” fruits of the grownup tree: lying, cheating, stealing, back-stabbing, bigotry, hypocrisy, pride, selfishness and a whole slew of other skills we grownups call “necessary traits for success in today's world.” Prior to third grade, kids just wanted to be and make others around them happy (case in point, the 20,000 apples the teacher has on her desk at any given time during the year).
For me, third grade started out innocent enough with everyone outrageously friendly as Barbie on vacation. By the end of the school year, however, it was like an overcrowded refugee camp with four Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s threatening to beat up everyone with their weapons of class destruction (WCD’s), one Saddam Hussein who tortured boys on the playground, one George Bush Jr. who declared war on the axis of evil, but stopped after knocking off Saddam because the teacher said to play fair, three Rob Walton’s with oodles of cash from dad, three Madeleine Albright’s who had the brains but no looks, three Miss South Carolina’s who had the looks but no brains, three Bill Clinton’s who—no matter what they were accused of—said they didn’t do it, two Jesse Jackson’s who blamed their grades on their race and ten John Q. Taxpayer’s who mostly observed the insanity around them and said, “Wow. I think I’m going to stay out of the way, act like everything is fine, do my homework and continue living outside my means by buying Hostess donuts from the snack bar.”
You who remember third grade know I’m speaking the truth. It’s a breeding ground for rank grownupism. And because we grownups are society’s pedagogues, the ugly cycle continues its menacing course generation after generation. It’s never going to stop until we stop acting like third graders, start acting like kindergarteners and for a change really grow up.
Thursday, July 31
Thursday, July 24
Oodles of Neons
As I recently walked through the mall, the first thing that came to my attention was the first thing that comes to most anyone’s attention as they walk through the mall: whatever overpriced product happens to be displayed on the neon-colored signs.
Admit it. You just can’t escape the constant, relentless, anxiety-spawning barrage of commercialism. Not today. Not in any modernized part of the world (which is everywhere on this Earth besides Antarctica; parts of Africa, Asia and South America; and Arkansas). Not with oodles of neon advertisements which practically blind you with the same intensity of staring up at a solar eclipse without nuclear blast-safe sunglasses.
Bolder, brighter, bigger. Oodles of neons. And I’m getting fed up with all of it. If you are as well, I propose we the consumers take a united stand on the united front of turning our backs to the neon signs in a manner similar to John Wayne walking away from the bad guy in the movie The Cowboys—which was with a calm, cool, and collected "I'm not afraid of having a bare knuckle brawl with you even though you have a gun and I don't" demeanor.
You may say, “Yes, but John Wayne was killed after he did that in the movie. Are we going to have to face the same fate as The Duke? I don't know if it's worth it. Besides, my credit card has a large enough credit limit on it for me to purchase 10 nuclear submarines and the Neushwanstein Castle. Must I really turn big consumer business down?” These are good questions and concerns, because we all know that every time a consumer has stood up and resisted purchasing against an overly-friendly salesperson, he or she was asked to "try one more garment on," reluctantly walked into the fitting room, came out about 3 minutes later, and eagerly strode straight up to the cash register to purchase the $3,000 name-brand, pumpkin-orange gown or suit which visibly was not their color. Obviously, we must admit there was some foul play going on in the fitting room to change the consumer's mind like that - perhaps a 300-pound hitman with a .45 caliber and a thick Italian accent. That’s why us consumers buy about anything at elegant stores regardless of the price: we don’t want to end up a victim of a Michael Corleone-style “You didn’t take the offer you couldn’t refuse” mattress war.
But signs are different. We don’t buy signs. They were created by big consumer business fairies to hypnotize us into buying whatever is advertised in flashy, in-your-face neon colors on the sign. Then they get us where they want us, walking with our hands out in front of us with money in them like a zombie into the mall. Yes, we consumers have a big job in front of us. We have to resist the hypnotic pull of the neon signs. But we don't have to be worried about being brutally murdered by shadow mafia hitmen coming out of the neon-colored woodwork if we don’t decide to drop everything and purchase that $150,000 diamond, titanium, gold, kryptonite Rolex watch which Roger Federer wore every time he received the Wimbledon plate, which was advertised in an obnoxiously flamboyant manner on the sign. Just resist and run before the Sicilians find out.
And then there is the number-one cause of car accidents on interstate highways within 10 miles of shopping malls and Olive Garden restaurants: billboards. Personally, I believe the driver shouldn’t have a problem avoiding temptation from the sign, no matter how appealing it may be. The driver should be looking at the road. Of course, this is true unless the driver happens to be a female between the ages of 16-40. Otherwise it is the passenger (again, usually female between the ages of 16-40) who does the tempting, like Eve did to Adam concerning the forbidden fruit. And it is usually at this time that the male driver looks up to see what is on the billboard and ends up crashing the car and - thankfully for us men - cutting the shopping trip short. However, these accidents are too often fatal.
Therefore, I believe billboards should be banned by the American government. Or at least they should have a Surgeon General-like warning on them so the female passenger can say something like: “Wow! Look at that billboard. Can we stop at… Wait a second! Don’t look at the billboard! The Surgeon General says there is a 51% chance of getting into a fatal accident if female passengers get their male drivers to glance up from the road and onto the sign! And I really need to get to JCPenney's today!” Thus disaster would have been averted.
But I doubt the American government will ever get involved, unless it has something to do with receiving trillions of dollars to pay for new White House draperies and cushier chairs in the Capital building, which it doesn’t. So it is up to us consumers to make a united stand against oodles of neons by not responding to the flashy signs—but rather coolly, calmly, collectively striding away and buying only what we need, like John Wayne would.
Admit it. You just can’t escape the constant, relentless, anxiety-spawning barrage of commercialism. Not today. Not in any modernized part of the world (which is everywhere on this Earth besides Antarctica; parts of Africa, Asia and South America; and Arkansas). Not with oodles of neon advertisements which practically blind you with the same intensity of staring up at a solar eclipse without nuclear blast-safe sunglasses.
Bolder, brighter, bigger. Oodles of neons. And I’m getting fed up with all of it. If you are as well, I propose we the consumers take a united stand on the united front of turning our backs to the neon signs in a manner similar to John Wayne walking away from the bad guy in the movie The Cowboys—which was with a calm, cool, and collected "I'm not afraid of having a bare knuckle brawl with you even though you have a gun and I don't" demeanor.
You may say, “Yes, but John Wayne was killed after he did that in the movie. Are we going to have to face the same fate as The Duke? I don't know if it's worth it. Besides, my credit card has a large enough credit limit on it for me to purchase 10 nuclear submarines and the Neushwanstein Castle. Must I really turn big consumer business down?” These are good questions and concerns, because we all know that every time a consumer has stood up and resisted purchasing against an overly-friendly salesperson, he or she was asked to "try one more garment on," reluctantly walked into the fitting room, came out about 3 minutes later, and eagerly strode straight up to the cash register to purchase the $3,000 name-brand, pumpkin-orange gown or suit which visibly was not their color. Obviously, we must admit there was some foul play going on in the fitting room to change the consumer's mind like that - perhaps a 300-pound hitman with a .45 caliber and a thick Italian accent. That’s why us consumers buy about anything at elegant stores regardless of the price: we don’t want to end up a victim of a Michael Corleone-style “You didn’t take the offer you couldn’t refuse” mattress war.
But signs are different. We don’t buy signs. They were created by big consumer business fairies to hypnotize us into buying whatever is advertised in flashy, in-your-face neon colors on the sign. Then they get us where they want us, walking with our hands out in front of us with money in them like a zombie into the mall. Yes, we consumers have a big job in front of us. We have to resist the hypnotic pull of the neon signs. But we don't have to be worried about being brutally murdered by shadow mafia hitmen coming out of the neon-colored woodwork if we don’t decide to drop everything and purchase that $150,000 diamond, titanium, gold, kryptonite Rolex watch which Roger Federer wore every time he received the Wimbledon plate, which was advertised in an obnoxiously flamboyant manner on the sign. Just resist and run before the Sicilians find out.
And then there is the number-one cause of car accidents on interstate highways within 10 miles of shopping malls and Olive Garden restaurants: billboards. Personally, I believe the driver shouldn’t have a problem avoiding temptation from the sign, no matter how appealing it may be. The driver should be looking at the road. Of course, this is true unless the driver happens to be a female between the ages of 16-40. Otherwise it is the passenger (again, usually female between the ages of 16-40) who does the tempting, like Eve did to Adam concerning the forbidden fruit. And it is usually at this time that the male driver looks up to see what is on the billboard and ends up crashing the car and - thankfully for us men - cutting the shopping trip short. However, these accidents are too often fatal.
Therefore, I believe billboards should be banned by the American government. Or at least they should have a Surgeon General-like warning on them so the female passenger can say something like: “Wow! Look at that billboard. Can we stop at… Wait a second! Don’t look at the billboard! The Surgeon General says there is a 51% chance of getting into a fatal accident if female passengers get their male drivers to glance up from the road and onto the sign! And I really need to get to JCPenney's today!” Thus disaster would have been averted.
But I doubt the American government will ever get involved, unless it has something to do with receiving trillions of dollars to pay for new White House draperies and cushier chairs in the Capital building, which it doesn’t. So it is up to us consumers to make a united stand against oodles of neons by not responding to the flashy signs—but rather coolly, calmly, collectively striding away and buying only what we need, like John Wayne would.
Thursday, July 17
I Propose a New Electoral College!
I learned many important things about our American government in middle school civics, such as the fact that the American people don’t actually choose their President. No, that decision is made by a school called the Electoral College, a near relative to Clown College.
This was very revolutionary to my young teenage mind, considering the fact that I had always been taught that government was “of the people, by the people, for the people, or else we will all perish from the Earth and miss out on next week’s episode of American Idol” (Today's English paraphrased version of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address). But in middle school I found there was actually a university made up of students who were president makers and breakers.
I imagined it to be some sort of secret Skull and Bones-type of society made up of Bilderberg’s, Rockefeller’s and Bush’s who did all their cogitating and conniving over who would be the next president behind locked 12 foot thick solid oak doors somewhere twenty miles beneath the Pentagon with endless supplies of cigars and brandy to aid their thinking faculties. Then, when a decision was made, smoke would billow out of the Pentagon’s chimneys, confusing journalists the world over whether it was actually black or white, thus forcing the Florida Supreme Court to choose the president, which in turn would cause Al Gore to try to convince the American people that the Constitution was not in fact created, but rather evolved, which would in turn lead to the growing popularity of a previously insignificant character named Chad.
However, my mind had not yet matured enough to realize that the whole electing situation was far worse than I had thought. The electoral college was in fact not made up of competent decision-makers, but moles. This is true because (a) they make their decisions underground, (b) they are buddies of government officials voted into office by government officials, namely state legislatures and (c) no one has any idea what their names are. As we can see, this is not a pretty picture, which is why 50% of the American people are not satisfied with the person who becomes president, while the other 50% lament the fact that they didn’t take the time to vote in the first place.
But my mind has matured a bit more since those naïve middle school days, back when I actually thought taxes were used to pay off the federal debt. I therefore have a proposition. We the people do have a choice! We just have to make it! We vote in our state representatives, don’t we? Who do they represent? You and me! And if they don’t, then we can either vote them out of office or secretly poison their bedtime sedatives (Article II, Section 2, Clause 134).
So, I propose that “we the people” contact our state representatives 275,984,103 times a day about who should be accepted to Electoral College. This will indeed intrigue our representatives, because usually us gullible American’s don’t give a care about Electoral College. But times have changed, because—as we can visibly see from the presidential campaign this summer—none of the presidential contenders are competent enough to rule a superpower in a dangerous and volatile and violent and WMD-infested world.
Thus the Founding Fathers, with the foresight and wisdom of 2,000 owls, placed these guidelines within the Constitution directing what sort of people should become members of the Electoral College: “But no Senator or Representative, or Person holding an Office of Trust or Profit under the United States, shall be appointed an Elector.”
Thus enter the new electors, specifically hand-picked “of the people, by the people, for the people, through the scared-out-of-their-wits-of-being-poisoned state representatives.” But who should we choose to make this momentous decision? Of course, people who know how to rule a superpower in a dangerous and volatile and violent and WMD-infested world, such as champion Risk and Sid Meier’s Civilization players. Perhaps even the one and only Sid Meier himself.
Seriously, who else could do it? These strategy game champion players know what it takes to put terrorists in their place, implement order in a chaotic world and invade Kamchatka from Alaska. They sure as beans should know how to choose a president. Perhaps, while we’re on the subject, we should consider changing the name of Electoral College to something more interest-arresting to middle school civics students like World Dominion College or Strategy War Games Champions College or Give Us A President Who Knows How To Kick The Tar Out Of Iran, Syria, North Korea and Kamchatca College. I don’t know—I guess we can leave that decision in the hands of our newly elected and quite competent electors. Perhaps then our young boys will want to be "electors" when they grow up.
So let’s stand up, America! Perhaps we will even get to see our names in middle school civics books 20 years down the road. Maybe we’ll be known as the generation who finally made Electoral College understandable for teens and simpler for civics instructors to teach. Who knows—maybe we can get Sid Meier to run for president.
This was very revolutionary to my young teenage mind, considering the fact that I had always been taught that government was “of the people, by the people, for the people, or else we will all perish from the Earth and miss out on next week’s episode of American Idol” (Today's English paraphrased version of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address). But in middle school I found there was actually a university made up of students who were president makers and breakers.
I imagined it to be some sort of secret Skull and Bones-type of society made up of Bilderberg’s, Rockefeller’s and Bush’s who did all their cogitating and conniving over who would be the next president behind locked 12 foot thick solid oak doors somewhere twenty miles beneath the Pentagon with endless supplies of cigars and brandy to aid their thinking faculties. Then, when a decision was made, smoke would billow out of the Pentagon’s chimneys, confusing journalists the world over whether it was actually black or white, thus forcing the Florida Supreme Court to choose the president, which in turn would cause Al Gore to try to convince the American people that the Constitution was not in fact created, but rather evolved, which would in turn lead to the growing popularity of a previously insignificant character named Chad.
However, my mind had not yet matured enough to realize that the whole electing situation was far worse than I had thought. The electoral college was in fact not made up of competent decision-makers, but moles. This is true because (a) they make their decisions underground, (b) they are buddies of government officials voted into office by government officials, namely state legislatures and (c) no one has any idea what their names are. As we can see, this is not a pretty picture, which is why 50% of the American people are not satisfied with the person who becomes president, while the other 50% lament the fact that they didn’t take the time to vote in the first place.
But my mind has matured a bit more since those naïve middle school days, back when I actually thought taxes were used to pay off the federal debt. I therefore have a proposition. We the people do have a choice! We just have to make it! We vote in our state representatives, don’t we? Who do they represent? You and me! And if they don’t, then we can either vote them out of office or secretly poison their bedtime sedatives (Article II, Section 2, Clause 134).
So, I propose that “we the people” contact our state representatives 275,984,103 times a day about who should be accepted to Electoral College. This will indeed intrigue our representatives, because usually us gullible American’s don’t give a care about Electoral College. But times have changed, because—as we can visibly see from the presidential campaign this summer—none of the presidential contenders are competent enough to rule a superpower in a dangerous and volatile and violent and WMD-infested world.
Thus the Founding Fathers, with the foresight and wisdom of 2,000 owls, placed these guidelines within the Constitution directing what sort of people should become members of the Electoral College: “But no Senator or Representative, or Person holding an Office of Trust or Profit under the United States, shall be appointed an Elector.”
Thus enter the new electors, specifically hand-picked “of the people, by the people, for the people, through the scared-out-of-their-wits-of-being-poisoned state representatives.” But who should we choose to make this momentous decision? Of course, people who know how to rule a superpower in a dangerous and volatile and violent and WMD-infested world, such as champion Risk and Sid Meier’s Civilization players. Perhaps even the one and only Sid Meier himself.
Seriously, who else could do it? These strategy game champion players know what it takes to put terrorists in their place, implement order in a chaotic world and invade Kamchatka from Alaska. They sure as beans should know how to choose a president. Perhaps, while we’re on the subject, we should consider changing the name of Electoral College to something more interest-arresting to middle school civics students like World Dominion College or Strategy War Games Champions College or Give Us A President Who Knows How To Kick The Tar Out Of Iran, Syria, North Korea and Kamchatca College. I don’t know—I guess we can leave that decision in the hands of our newly elected and quite competent electors. Perhaps then our young boys will want to be "electors" when they grow up.
So let’s stand up, America! Perhaps we will even get to see our names in middle school civics books 20 years down the road. Maybe we’ll be known as the generation who finally made Electoral College understandable for teens and simpler for civics instructors to teach. Who knows—maybe we can get Sid Meier to run for president.
Friday, July 11
An Expert's Solution to America's Problems
According to many of America’s highly recognized and lowly intelligent experts, the greatest threat to American security (besides global warming) is America’s own military. This is true because, and I quote, “Our army is broken.” So said Lawrence J. Korb, a senior fellow at the Center for American Progress, an official-sounding club for Harvard graduates who couldn’t find high paying occupations.
This is interesting because I guess I simply assumed that certain threats such as global terrorism or WMDs or the economy or Conan O’Brien’s hair were at the top of America’s Most Unwanted Threats list. Silly me.
Obviously I am not a Harvard-bred expert. But since the overwhelming majority of American experts have Thai noodles and curry for brains and still somehow never fail to dazzle and awe us Americans watching Nightly News when Brian Williams states, “And now hold onto your seats as we intently listen to the sage and magical words of this evening’s Ivy League graduated expert” (could just as well said “wizard”), I will therefore proclaim myself one. You might want to sit down, if you are not already, because words from self-proclaimed experts have a tendency to make some people faint with wonderment, and I will not be held responsible for you crashing face first into your computer screen.
As all greatly recognized experts do, I am compelled to begin with a problem. This is not hard. Where do I start? Wow! Is this what experts feel like every time they are about to state a problem?! This smart?!
Anyway, these are a few of the humongous issues looming over America today, which I expertly came up with: oil, Iran and Asian carp.
Let’s begin with oil prices since it’s the easiest issue to pin a culprit to. We all know who to blame for insanely over-priced oil: caribou. This is because a little more than five years ago a bill barely passed through the Senate which rejected any chance of drilling for oil within the boundaries of the vast Alaskan wildlife refuges, which collectively are about the size of all of Asia. How this actually was possible has been a very well-hidden secret. The truth is, where the Republicans had pro-oil lobbyists and billions of dollars, the Democrats had herds of caribou and trillions of tons of snow. The polar bears also offered their services—doing the dirty work, such as eating oil company employees entering the no-drill zone. This was all performed at the behest of the caribou, however. So they are to blame.
Next we have Iran, the molding leftover from the axis of evil meal that no one wants to eat. They are a serious threat to America, obviously, because they are next door neighbors to Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Turkmenistan, Nuclearwaristan, and the Arabian Sea—all who either are or should be invaded by the U.S. So we can see that Iran is a threat to our society, seeing that they also have so much oil that they use it as a frequently served cafeteria meal in the grade schools, and that the caribou stole ours in Alaska. Add uranium and Russian scientists to the mix, and you have a baseball, apple pie and Hollywood threatening salmagundi.
Which brings me to my third threat: Asian carp. I read an article about how they are at this very moment invading North America more effectively than the French did in the 17th century—which isn’t saying much—and breaking fishermen’s noses along the way. This is no joke. According to the same article, these Asian sea monsters can get up to over 100 pounds in weight and jump out of the water as high as 15 feet, injuring anglers in the process, which I can’t exactly hold against them, being that it was obviously in self-defense. According to the same article and Wikipedia, they eat so much plankton that within a decade the entire United States will be an oversized desert. But don’t let their name fool you—Asia is not to blame (although I am sure China encouraged them). We can blame our own homegrown Arkansas fish farmers, whose crude manner of ranching was no match for the Asians’ technologically advanced methods of escape.
Now, unlike most experts, I am going to give you solutions. I propose we sign a peace pact with the caribou—which would also include their polar bear hitmen—and Asian carp. Then naturalize them so we can draft them into our armed forces and replace our “broken army” and navy with the well rested Alaskan Wildlife Battalion and Leaping Leviathans Task Force. The caribou can take command and administrative positions in Iraq, and the polar bears can again do the dirty work, like eating would-be suicide bombers and invading Iran. The carp would focus on blockading Iran from the sea and confiscating all oil transports. This would pay for our entire Middle East invasion and also lower gas prices at home, so we can spend more money on Harvard expert degrees.
This is interesting because I guess I simply assumed that certain threats such as global terrorism or WMDs or the economy or Conan O’Brien’s hair were at the top of America’s Most Unwanted Threats list. Silly me.
Obviously I am not a Harvard-bred expert. But since the overwhelming majority of American experts have Thai noodles and curry for brains and still somehow never fail to dazzle and awe us Americans watching Nightly News when Brian Williams states, “And now hold onto your seats as we intently listen to the sage and magical words of this evening’s Ivy League graduated expert” (could just as well said “wizard”), I will therefore proclaim myself one. You might want to sit down, if you are not already, because words from self-proclaimed experts have a tendency to make some people faint with wonderment, and I will not be held responsible for you crashing face first into your computer screen.
As all greatly recognized experts do, I am compelled to begin with a problem. This is not hard. Where do I start? Wow! Is this what experts feel like every time they are about to state a problem?! This smart?!
Anyway, these are a few of the humongous issues looming over America today, which I expertly came up with: oil, Iran and Asian carp.
Let’s begin with oil prices since it’s the easiest issue to pin a culprit to. We all know who to blame for insanely over-priced oil: caribou. This is because a little more than five years ago a bill barely passed through the Senate which rejected any chance of drilling for oil within the boundaries of the vast Alaskan wildlife refuges, which collectively are about the size of all of Asia. How this actually was possible has been a very well-hidden secret. The truth is, where the Republicans had pro-oil lobbyists and billions of dollars, the Democrats had herds of caribou and trillions of tons of snow. The polar bears also offered their services—doing the dirty work, such as eating oil company employees entering the no-drill zone. This was all performed at the behest of the caribou, however. So they are to blame.
Next we have Iran, the molding leftover from the axis of evil meal that no one wants to eat. They are a serious threat to America, obviously, because they are next door neighbors to Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Turkmenistan, Nuclearwaristan, and the Arabian Sea—all who either are or should be invaded by the U.S. So we can see that Iran is a threat to our society, seeing that they also have so much oil that they use it as a frequently served cafeteria meal in the grade schools, and that the caribou stole ours in Alaska. Add uranium and Russian scientists to the mix, and you have a baseball, apple pie and Hollywood threatening salmagundi.
Which brings me to my third threat: Asian carp. I read an article about how they are at this very moment invading North America more effectively than the French did in the 17th century—which isn’t saying much—and breaking fishermen’s noses along the way. This is no joke. According to the same article, these Asian sea monsters can get up to over 100 pounds in weight and jump out of the water as high as 15 feet, injuring anglers in the process, which I can’t exactly hold against them, being that it was obviously in self-defense. According to the same article and Wikipedia, they eat so much plankton that within a decade the entire United States will be an oversized desert. But don’t let their name fool you—Asia is not to blame (although I am sure China encouraged them). We can blame our own homegrown Arkansas fish farmers, whose crude manner of ranching was no match for the Asians’ technologically advanced methods of escape.
Now, unlike most experts, I am going to give you solutions. I propose we sign a peace pact with the caribou—which would also include their polar bear hitmen—and Asian carp. Then naturalize them so we can draft them into our armed forces and replace our “broken army” and navy with the well rested Alaskan Wildlife Battalion and Leaping Leviathans Task Force. The caribou can take command and administrative positions in Iraq, and the polar bears can again do the dirty work, like eating would-be suicide bombers and invading Iran. The carp would focus on blockading Iran from the sea and confiscating all oil transports. This would pay for our entire Middle East invasion and also lower gas prices at home, so we can spend more money on Harvard expert degrees.
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