A Call for Change

We are in troubled times. We find ourselves in the midst of a global economic crisis, buttressed by wars without end, and heightened by a rapidly deteriorating environment. The stratifications between the rich and everyone else, the mainstream and the marginalized, and the first world and the third world are at their most ominous extremes. And yet we have the opportunity to change the course as the election for the American presidency draws near. Tonight we'll watch the two candidates, as that sense of urgency continues to teem from our depths and move us towards the ballot box. With such big decisions looming, I wanted to take a break from nonsensical humor and devote myself to a serious matter that warrants attention in these direst of times…What’s the deal with people bringing you something from their vacation abroad, only to rub your face in the fact that they went on vacation and you didn’t?

Seriously people, you go on vacation and you bring me back a memento…so I can remember something I have no memory of! All it’s gonna remind me of is the fact that I did not go on your beautiful trip. That’s just mean, dude.

“You woulda loved seeing this beach with the….and going to that outdoor….and eating those great….” Yeah, thanks, I get it. You did all these things I love…without me. That makes me feel wonderful.

And you may try to justify it by saying that you were thinking of me while you were away. In reality you were thinking of how much you could torment me by leaving me a reminder of YOUR trip, not mine. Stop trying to spread your happiness in my cave of despair. I know you’re just trying to set yourself up for that moment when you visit again 3 years from now, see the little Kremlin snowglobe on my desk, and say “Hey! I remember this! It’s from that time I was in Red Square! Oh that’s right, you weren’t there…”

Even worse than the little shot glass that says 'Jammin in Jamaica' or the 'I got Lei'd' novelty license plate is the postcard in the mail. It usually features a scenic locale, gorgeous architecture, beautiful women, and a message on the back that says “Wish you were here!” Translation: You aren’t here suckaaa, but I am! So malicious. The evil postcard is the lowest of the low because it’s a reminder of your vacation while you’re still enjoying it! At least with other stuff you give me in person, I know that your fun is over. But with the postcard, it’s like your fun is never gonna end. And while you’re out in the sun, inhaling foreign culture, and washing your ass in a bidet, I’m stuck picking up your dog’s poop with my plastic bagged hand, watering your stupid ficus, and visiting your grandma at the home, making her believe that I’m you. She’s a sweet lady but MAN is she handsy!

A harder slap to the face, I know no other. It’s like being a sidelined Jeremy Shockey while the Giants win the greatest Super Bowl ever. It’s like your best friend being married to Jessica Alba and telling you in explicit details what a freak in bed she is…and then showing you actual video of them doing the horizontal monkey mambo. It’s like when your mom mutilated your imaginary friend Mr. Magic-Bone in the garbage disposal because she didn’t realize he was only an inch tall and still standing on your plate, nibbling at your leftover chicken. The horror!...wait, that last one has nothing to do with anything. It’s just sad.

So the next time you’re touring the Great Pyramids atop a camel and you think to yourself, “gee whiz! Boogie B would love this!” please do not write me a postcard to brag or get me a false memento of your memory. Leave these tease-trinkets there. Instead, get stung by a scorpion. That I would gladly remember with fondness. Ass.