by Roger White
With a tip of the hat to a master chronicler of the American age, it must be noted that Bob Dylan never lived in a 3/2/2 with central heat/air and two and a half mortgages during a time when, by all appearances, our society is on the verge of utter decay—all viewable with the click of a mouse or touch of a pad.
So I give you “Suburban Worldsick Blues.”
Perry’s in the Capitol, railin’ against abortion,
I’m lookin’ at my taxes thinkin’ it’s extortion,
The man in the trench coat shootin’ up the school halls
Says he got bullied so everybody must fall.
Look out, dad, the economy is bad,
God knows what we did, but the country’s on the skids.
You better duck down, turn page, watch out for road rage,
Another mass s
hooting, another senseless rampage,
Sterling’s on his cell phone reminiscin’ ’bout slavery,
Miley’s twerkin’ onstage, scandalous behavery.
Look out, mom, Gotta stay calm,
Soldiers in Kabul dodging roadside bombs.
Get sick, get well, they’re laying off again at Dell,
Are we winnin’ whatever war, it’s gettin’ kinda hard to tell,
Presiden
t says our healthcare system’s unfit,
All Congress says is where’s your birth certificate?
Well, Hormel, GM organizin’ recalls,
Bad meat, bad brakes, pickets down at town hall,
Daughter’s college fees call for medical sedation,
Building border walls to stifle immigration.
Look out, pop, no tellin’ where it stops,
Younger daughter’s boyfriend working at a head shop.
Mortgage underwater, excess beer consumption,
Viagra wants to help with that erectile dysfunction,
The facto
ry just made a Chapter 11 declaration,
School board says it’s gonna teach divine creation.
Text tweet online, your selfie looking so fine,
Kids in Bosnia steppin’ on old land mines.
Icebergs meltin’, droughts killin’ all the wheat,
Just global warmin’ lies of the liberal elite.
Well, get dressed, get stressed, face the day’s traffic mess,
Oops, your job’s just been outsourced to Bangladesh.
Don’t follow leaders, take pills for all the cedars,
Find yourself a new position as a Walmart greeter.
Look out, mama, you’re dyin’ from the trauma,
Increase yer Prozac dosage, tune in the dalai lama.
Well, jump down a manhole, filibuster gun control,
Think I saw a shadow up there beyond the grassy knoll,
Headin’ to the car, another day in the loony ward,
Shakin’ yer head ’cause the vandals keyed yer new Ford.
Roger White is a freelance writer living in Austin, Texas, with his lovely wife, two precocious daughters, a very fat dachshund, and a self-absorbed cat. For further adventures, visit oldspouse.wordpress.com.
oldspouse 
Commence Ye Festivities, Followers: It’s Find the Fib
15 Augby Roger White
Ah, yes. It’s just about that time again, my anthrax-addled adherents. No, I’m not referring to Be An Angel Day—although August 22 is official Be An Angel Day. If you’re unfamiliar with BAAD, it was created by Jayne Howard Feldman, author of Driving Under the Influence of Angels, who insists that she was inspired by said angels to devise this special day to encourage being kind to others and participating in all-around do-goodery. This is not to b
e confused with BAHAD—Bean A Hell’s Angels Day—which involves smacking a motorcycle gang member upside the head and then running like hell.
Anyway, that isn’t what I’m talking about, so just leave it alone.
No, troops, it’s time once again to play Find the Fib. Yes, I know that NPR Radio has its backward version of this shtick, but as I said before, I’ve been doing it for 33 years now, so if anyone has a case against anybody, it’s me. Against them. About this. But I love NPR, and only lawyers win when you sue, and who needs wealthier lawyers?
Which reminds me of another lawyer joke:
Q: Why is attending a bar association meeting like going into a bait shop?
A: Because of the abundance of suckers, leeches, maggots, and nightcrawlers.
God, I love that. Anyway, faithful gawkers of my quasi-regular epistles know that every 18 years, rain or shine, I present Find the Fib. How it works is this: I give you, dear readers, several news reports from around the globe. However, one of them is total bunk. Sheer hokum. Your job is to determine which one. First one to e-mail me the correct answer at roger.white@tasb.org wins three real U.S. dollars. No pennies, real bills. Second place wins two bucks; third place, one genuine American dollar. Fourth through sixth place wins a nifty “Jesus Is Coming, Hide the Bong” bumper sticker; seventh through ninth earns a hearty “Thanks for Playing Our Stupid Game!” e-mail from yours truly. Taxes on winnings are sole responsibility of individual winners. Void where prohibited. Prohibit where voided. Violators will be prosecuted. Prosecutors will be etc. etc.
If you don’t want to play this time around, worry not. You’ll get another opportunity in August of 2032. So here goes. Find the Fib:
Story No. 1: Overly germaphobic types in South Korea have invented something they call the Finger Nap. Finger Naps are tiny plastic sanitary gloves that fit over one’s digits—basically finger condoms—to be used by over-the-wall neat freaks to eat pizza, hamburgers, donuts, and such. Some restaurants in South Korea have caught on to the trend by installing Finger Nap dispensaries. Now if they could only invent Nose Naps for eating kimchi.
Story No. 2: Boeing is teaming up with South African Airways to develop jet fuel made from tobacco. The fuel, concocted from a hybrid tobacco plant, is part of an effort to cut carbon emissions and promote green energy in South Africa. Test-farming of the plants is under way, with biofuel output expected in the “next few years,” a company spokesperson said. The spokesperson did not say whether fuels would be available in menthol and ultra-light.
Story No. 3: Authorities in New Jersey are investigating the explosion of a giant vat of eggnog, which damaged a pharmaceutical plant and caused minor injuries to two workers. Employees were mixing artificial eggnog flavorings in a laboratory in Totowo, New Jersey, when the explosion occurred, the town’s fire marshal told local news reporters. The company was trying out a new eggnog recipe, the marshal said, adding that the cause of the blast was undetermined. There’s been no word from officials about why a giant vat of whiskey was parked next to the giant vat of eggnog.
Story No. 4: In a tragic twist, a Wisconsin man was killed accidentally by an invention he envisioned to save lives. The inventor was wearing his “para-shirt” invention, created
to be worn as a dress shirt that could be used as a parachute in the event of a high-rise office fire, when the parachute deployed while the man was driving on a Madison freeway. With his view obstructed, the man drove off a downtown overpass, dropping thirty feet to his demise. Now if he’d only invented the “car-a-chute.”
Story No. 5: A South African animal rights group is planning to sue those responsible for the death of a giraffe that smashed its head on a bridge as it was transported in a trailer on one of the country’s busiest freeways. Eyewitnesses reported seeing two giraffes in an open trailer being driven along Johannesburg’s N1 motorway before one hit its head on the bridge. “Look how low that bridge is and how tall the giraffes are,” one witness cried. “Who thought this one through?” South Africa’s National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SANSPCA) said they would be seeking to prosecute the giraffe relocators. Meanwhile, SASORSP—the South African Society Of Really Stupid People—is also seeking the drivers to award them the organization’s highest honor.
Roger White is a freelance writer living in Austin, Texas, with his lovely wife, two precocious daughters, a very fat dachshund, and a self-absorbed cat. For further adventures, visit oldspouse.wordpress.com.
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