Oxymoron 101: POLITICAL ACTION (Figures Sold Separately)

Unidentified busy-body congressman is bound in red tape and locked in Senate chamber closet

There are two kinds of people, those who talk about getting things done and those who actually get them done. If you’re looking to jump into the latter pool, don’t chlorinate contaminate the pool with politics, especially since CLEAN POLITICS is not only an illusion, but it’s an oxymoron as well.

Moreover, if you’re one of those idealistic politicians — meaning somebody who has never heard of politics or has yet to be contaminated by the status-quo cesspool – who wants to serve as a catalyst for political change, avoid ascribing to POLITICAL ACTION at all possible costs, even if those costs amount to losing an election.

To see political in-action, look no further than our beloved Do-Nothing Congress, whose job is to help protect U.S. citizens from themselves.

In between do-nothing inactivities, Sen. John McCain takes a nap in Senate chamber

Ironically, the more action Congressmen take to protect us, the more harm they do — unless of course you have a stable of well-groomed lobbyists mortgaging political influence on your behalf. In doing so, politicians are creating the illusion that we need them. Crafting bills and amendments is nothing more than hammering out press releases or political ads:

“See, you need me after all, dear Constituent. Who else, using your money, could help protect you from yourself?”

Like farmers, maybe we, the taxpayers, should pay lawmakers subsidies to do nothing, literally speaking of course — thus saving us money in the long-term, preserving the topsoil of laws already enacted, and preventing lawmakers from over-saturating the global market and driving down demand for recycled ideas. Not to mention, paying politicians to do nothing will help them focus on their primary objectives of political office: raising money to fill their campaigns with empty rhetoric.

A red flag of suspicion should pop up anytime you hear a politician decry: “This is an outrage and calls for immediate action!” Although it makes voters feel as if their ELECTED OFFICIALS are actually being heard, politicians, like fear-induced Chicken-Little alarms, are programmed to go off and say this every two months as a means of giving angered citizens less time to sharpen their pitchforks and shout in an all-CAPS e-mail message to their representative:

“YOU NEED TO TAKE IMMEDIATE ACTION ON THIS ISSUE – BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!!!”

These threats, however, usually end with these words or the threat of pepper spray, unless the angered citizen tacks “…OR ELSE” on to the end, which may provoke an arrest or restraining order. However, this rarely occurs in America – one of the only self-described Democracies wherein the employers are STILL afraid of their employees.

To help capture political inaction and serve as a homeopathic cure for insomnia, Brain Lamb created C-SPAN (Cable-Satellite Public Affairs Network), a COMMERCIAL-FREE television network dedicated to around-the-clock coverage of politicians doing what they get paid for: Nothing. Similar to the popular situation-comedy “Seinfeld,” which broke the formulaic television envelop by creating a show about “nothing,” C-SPAN created an entire network about “nothing.”

C-SPAN’s Merry Pundits spread new brand of POLITICAL ACTION in Magic Bus during 2008 campaign

Although to C-SPAN’s credit, it did lay the foundation for 24-hour news channels, which takes 30 minutes of news and stretches it out over a 24-hour period. The difference between “Seinfeld” and C-SPAN is that people actually watch “Seinfeld” (syndicated episodes), whereas the only people who watch C-SPAN are the wives of politicians, who tune in to make sure their husbands aren’t out cheating on them.

If POLITICAL ACTION wasn’t bad enough, some politicians have slapped on the word Committee to Political Action, thus formulating Political Action Committee. Once POLITICAL and ACTION cancel each other out, you’re left with “committee.” And any figurehead, whether public or private, knows that the quickest and easiest way to divert attention away from a controversial issue is to appoint a committee to study the matter. Death-by-Committee will ensure that nothing ever gets accomplished.

Newly formed Political Action Committee gathers outside White House to take immediate action

Besides, PACs are nothing more than money fronts for politicians to launder campaign contributions while simultaneously masking the identity of the contributors.

From T.M. Lindsey’s UNPUBLISHED BOOK, Oxymoron 101: The LONG-LOST GUIDE to AWFULLY GOOD Oxymorons.

Top Ten Rejected NCAA College Basketball Mascots (An Exercise in Futility)

Chief Illiniwek: "Read my face paint: I am not a racist mascot."

Usually when controversy and basketball mascots are mentioned in the same breath, it has something to do with the use of negative Native-American stereotypes such as the Fighting Illini’s Chief Illiniwek, Florida State’s Sammy Seminole, or the University of North Dakota’s Fighting Sioux.

However, to address these stereotypical misrepresentations of the Native-American culture, a University of Northern Colorado (UNC) intramural basketball team (which included players of Native-American ancestry) went on the satiric warpath in 2002 by adopting the name “Fighting Whites” (later dubbed “Fightin’ Whities” by media outlets). For their team’s mascot, the Fighting Whites employed a stereotypical, white, 1950s ad man based on the advertising art of the time.

When I first heard news about the Fightin’ Whities during an NPR report while driving my car to work, I nearly spit my coffee all over the dashboard. Finally, somebody had the stones to stick it to the White Man, I thought to myself. Before long, the Fightin’ Whities took the nation by storm and began selling the team’s t-shirt all over the country.

They sold enough t-shirts in 2003 that they were able to donate $100,000 to the UNC Foundation, most of which went to a scholarship fund for Native Americans.

Those silly Indian Givers — bucking the White Man’s ironic stereotypes once again.

And now David Letterman’s “Late Show” is getting in on some of the mascot action with its latest installment of the Online Top Ten Contest. Due to the recent demise of voter turnout among SSF readers, my quest to win the Holy “Online Late Show” t-shirt has devolved from an obsession to an exercise-in-futility.

That said, here’s my top-ten list of possible entries to this week’s Top Ten contest. Once again, I’m soliciting your help – or not. I’ve written ten possible entries for this week’s list, and it’s up to you to help me select the CHOSEN ONE from the list (for I can only submit one) that you think has the best chance of winning.

Just think, with your help, all of this could be mine

This week’s list: Top Ten Rejected NCAA College Basketball Mascots

10. University of North Carolina Tar Heels Babies

9. AIG Golden Parachutists

8. University of Nevada – Las Vegas Number-Runnin’ Rebels

7. University of Kentucky Klansmen

6. University of Tennessee – Nashville Off-Court Predators

5. Boston College Lady Spread-Eagles

4. Indiana University Dark Knights

3. Duke Blue Devils Ballers

2. Oral Roberts University Fightin’ Fundies

1. American University Flying Jihadists

Don’t forget to indicate (in the Comments) which ONE of these I should submit to the Top Ten Contest.

Steal My Identity, Please

Finally, somebody stole my identity.

That somebody, or who I, not by choice mind you, now call the New Me, finally took the bait and stole my identity. Ever since I invested all of my hope inY2K (that’s “Year 2000” – for my fellow Acronym Challenged brethren out there) wiping the financial slates clean from microchip memory, only to be thoroughly disappointed when the anticipated crash did not happen, I’ve been praying somebody would steal my identity and the financial baggage that comes with it.

During the waning days leading up to the turn of the century, when I wasn’t thinking about what life must have been like in debtors’ prisons, I channeled all of my remaining energy into Operation Ground Zero – my little pet name for the impending Y2K crash. Often times these thought strands would merge, and I imagined the resurrection of debtors’ prisons in the post-Y2K era.

The First Rule of Operation Ground Zero is That You Don't Talk About Operation Ground Zero

Ironically, I envisioned debtors’ prisons in an optimistic light – a trait I picked up through my mother’s umbilical cord while floating aimlessly in the womb, without any financial worries whatsoever. Ah yes, the salad days. Debtors’ prison: Where else are you guaranteed a roof over your head and three square meals a day? Moreover, debtors will get the opportunity to spend more time with their families, since they’ll be imprisoned alongside their loved ones instead of alone in an office cubicle, not to mention, debtors’ prisons will have the best education system, since most teachers are in debt up until they retire.

To help tempt and encourage identity thieves, I’ve been leaving my financial baggage all over the Internet, unattended, despite all the warnings circulating in the virtual airwaves via telecom:

Warning: Do not leave your financial baggage unattended, for bags may be stolen or injected with a virus that will virtually destroy your life. Please report any unattended bags to the Internet police or any behaviors that may be considered suspicious, including but not limited to persons fitting computer hacker profiles that demonstrate antisocial behaviors in public places, shoeless children offering to carry your bags in exchange for money and/or sexual favors, or mechanical dogs sniffing through your matching, leopard-skin luggage set.

Despite making wholesale security cuts and leaving behind a mixed-trail of computer cookies a hack hacker could easily digest, nobody had been tempted by my identity. They must have read the writing on the firewalls:

Keep Out! This Poor Cat Ain’t Carryin’ No Cash or Credit

Even so, I thought somebody would at least nibble on my identity before moving on to other, more reputable and potentially profitable marks, say AIG shareholders. Although I had never bought into the Fear Industry’s mega-marketing machine, I thought my revealing identity would lure somebody into its financial abyss. Exacerbated by 9-11 attacks and the “War on Terror,” the “War on Identity Theft,” has stepped up its measures as well, pumping paranoia into the market through fear generators – known as televisions and radios in less paranoid communities.

Not a day goes by that I don’t hear some advertisement warning me about identity theft:

Voice Over: Did you know that paying with unprotected plastic is like having sex without a rubber? Whether it’s somebody stealing your identity or giving you an incurable STD, you’re putting your life on the line. Why risk subject yourself to a long, painful death, when you can protect yourself and enjoy the temporary gratification without having to worry about what or who’s on the other end? No more worries; now you can buy the best protection in the industry…

The Identity Protection Industry Racket has become the new Mafia in America, offering consumers protection from identity thieves in exchange for nominal fees.

"You want your identity protected? I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse..."

For me the key to fighting identity theft is making sure I don’t have anything worth stealing (at least that’s what I keep telling myself), including my dignity. Subconsciously, at least that’s what I tell Therapist Bob, I’ve taken this philosophy to an extreme by digging a financial hole to China, who by the way, already owns my debt by way of the United States. Hmmmm…maybe we should tempt another country to steal our country’s identity to help erase our debt and lift us out of the current recession.

Got toxic assets?

So I began leaving my identity laying around on the Internet, thinking somebody would quickly snatch it up, but no such luck. I even resorted to using reverse psychology: “Yoo hoo. Over here. Whatever you do, keep your hands off my sweet, little identity, big boy.”

But to no avail.

However, some sucker, the New Me, finally took the bait and hooked my identity last month, only to discover he had been hobbled by a rapidly falling credit score. The New Me is not banking too well. Worse, the New Me had the nerve to file a lawsuit against the Old Me, claiming I had entrapped him into a financial quagmire.

But I’ve vowed to fight the New Me, to the death if need be, and it’s no longer about the money, rather it’s about protecting my dignity – at least what’s left of it after amortization.

Breaking: SSF Faux News Headline Challenge (No. 1)

While “The Onion: America’s Finest Only News Source” and “FOX News: Fair and UnBalanced” have cornered the market on the faux news industry, the line between reality and absurdity has become increasingly blurred.

To help illustrate this, I’ve pirated the following photos off of the FOX News Web site and included the matching news headline. In addition I’ve included SSF Faux News Headlines and it’s your job, dear Reader, to pick which one is the real headline. (Correct answers provided in the Comments section)

A) Whole Foods Latest Grocer Swallowed Whole by Economic Python

B) ‘World’s Deadliest Spider’ Found in Whole Foods Produce Section

C) Rush Limbaugh Calls Whole Foods ‘Liberal Meat-Market for the Rich’

A) Obama Reaches Out to Iran, Looks for Engagement

B) Despite Threats, Obama Looking to End Bush’s Messy Divorce with Iran

C) Obama Courts Iranians with YouTube Video

A) Chicago Family Claims ‘Bitch’ Abandoned by Obamas 2 Years Ago

B) Therapy Dog ‘Leg Go’ from Senior Nursing Home to Help Muzzle Costs

C) Feeling Financial Heat, North Carolina Family Dog Eats Owner’s Money

A) After Hearing Obama’s Special Olympic Joke on Leno, Special Olympic Swimmer Drowns Self

B) Surveillance Camera Captures Hotel Lifeguard Sitting Idle in Wheelchair during Drowning

C) Ohio Transgender Woman Sentenced to Death 4 Year in Prison for Exercising Husband to Death

George W. Bush’s Top Ten Facebook Status Updates (An Exercise in Futility)

Just when you thought former President George W. Bush had fully disappeared into the Texas sunset with the satirists’ shadow following closely behind, David Letterman’s “Late Show” posse resurrected him for this week’s Online Top Ten Contest. While most satirists have boxed up their George W. Bush satiric crutches and stored them in the attic, CBS insists we beat the “dead horse” and contemplate what the “Great Decider” is doing during his twilight years.

When Bush first left office, I had no doubts he would follow his arch enemy Osama bin Laden’s lead and go into reclusive exile, resurrecting every so often to remind the American people, probably through the release of a grainy video clip on YouTube, who helped elevate the world of satire and made it what it is today.

However, unlike the “No White’s Allowed” sign mounted at the entrance of bin Laden’s Pakistani cave, Bush moved into the formerly whites-only Dallas suburb of Preston Hollow. Bush was immediately ostracized by his new upper-crust neighbors, whose property values made double-digit drops when They moved into the neighborhood.

Birds eye view of former President George W. Bush's new post-presidency bunker in Preston Hollow, where Bush remains holed up

Fortunately while living in exile, Bush has kept in contact with his two friends through his Facebook page, which leads to this week’s online Top Ten Contest.

Due to the recent demise of voter turnout among SSF readers, my quest to win the Holy “Online Late Show” t-shirt has devolved from an obsession to an exercise-in-futility. That said, here’s my top-ten list of possible entries to this week’s Top Ten contest. Once again, I’m soliciting your help – or not. I’ve written ten possible entries for this week’s list, and it’s up to you to help me select the CHOSEN ONE from the list (for I can only submit one) that you think has the best chance of winning.

Just think, with your help, all of this could be mine

This week’s list: George W. Bush’s Top Ten Facebook Status Updates

George W. Bush is…

10. Having trouble deciding what to title upcoming memoir about decisions made in office

9. Missing Jon Stewart dropping his name on “The Daily Show”

8. Playing Grand Theft Democracy on his new Xbox 360

7. Wondering if he should double-down on life-insurance policy before weekend hunting trip with Dick Cheney

6. Now friends with Kim Jong-il, Will Farrell, Joe Lieberman, Miley Cyrus, and Krusty the Clown

5. Watching “W” and wishes he could act like Josh Brolin

4. Feeling better after coming out of eight-year coma

3. Upset Laura’s book club is reading Obama’s “The Audacity of Hope”

2. Using 12-step program to break addiction to presidential signing statements

1. Hitting up AIG CEOs for presidential library donations

Don’t forget to indicate (in the Comments) which ONE of these I should submit to the Top Ten Contest.

They’re Always After Me St. Paddy’s Day Limericks!

Ah yes, St. Paddy’s Day has arrived. A day of Irish reconciliation in America where, for a day, everyone has at least one drop of Irish blood alcohol level, thus qualifying them to drink liberally and slur their best Irish accents among their 1/32nd Irish friends. For the record: I’m half Irish, but I’m not entirely sure which half – the bottom or top half. Although I inherited a number of Irish traits from my father’s side (green eyes, reddish hair, and a soft spot for Bono), I did not inherit his Irish taste buds. I cannot stand Irish cuisine and feel blessed my grandfather immigrated to America, where he drank himself, probably to kill the taste of corned beef and cabbage, to an untimely death.

I plan on celebrating by wearing green all day, not because I need to profess or celebrate my Irish heritage, rather so nobody pinches me. Moreover, to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day this year, I thought I would serve up some tasty limericks as either appetizers or chasers for those of you who plan on indulging in Ireland’s favorite pastime: Guinness green beer.

(Note: To fully appreciate these limericks, it’s recommended that you read them aloud in private, using your best Irish accent, before you start knocking down the beers in a public pub.)

There’s No Place Like Ireland on St. Paddy’s Day in America

St, Paddy’s Day rolls ‘round but once a year
As Americans quest for green beer,
Pour on thick accents,
Spew yarns of nonsense,
And long for a home they’ve never been near.

Just Say No to Me Lucky Charms

There once was a leprechaun named Lucky
Who hooked kids on marshmallows quite sticky.
When they need a fix.
They must turn a trick;
For Lucky’s charms are magically tasty.

Saint Patrick’s Snakes on a Plane

There once was a saint named Patrick
Who chased off Ireland’s snakes with a stick.
They boarded a plane,
Drove the crew insane –
Inspiring this muthufuckin’ snakes on a plane lim’rick.

Saint Patricia’s Night at the Roxbury

There once was a lassie from Listerine
Who dipped her whole body in green.
She drank herself blind,
Nearly drowned her mind
And awoke to a leprechaun drag queen.

Bureaucratic Genocide: Iowa Politicians Attempt to Kill Off Elders with Acronym

The Iowa Assembly has set the stage for an epic battle-to-the-metaphoric-death between the state’s elderly population and the up-and-coming elected power mongers. Fearing the Elders may usurp their power, Iowa Lawmakers approved a bill changing the state’s Department of Elderly Affairs (DEA), not to be confused with the fed’s Drug Enforcement Agency, to the Department of Aging – or more aptly Dead on Arrival (DOA).

Recently appointed Head of D.O.A., Will T. Corpse, moves into new office in State Coroner's basement

Despite the age-old prophecy espoused by the Blind Prophet, Iowametheus, that one day a group of power-hungry legislators, armed with a deadly acronym, will rise up and destroy the Elders, the latter refuses to relinquish their walkers and allow their power to be usurped.

Masking their true intentions, Des Moines Democrat Rep. Janet Petersen, 38, claimed that the move was needed, because some people don’t like the word “elderly.”

And they would prefer being labeled DOA?

WTF?

BTW: What’s in an acronym?

When the slang acronym WTF? (What The F*CK) started popping up on e-mail and text messages, neither the World Turkey Federation or World Taekwondo Foundation caved in and changed their acronym to alleviate any confusions on behalf of the acronym-challenged. Ironically, this was not the case with the World Wrestling Federation, which threw in the white towel to its arch nemesis, the World Wildlife Foundation, which threatened to sue them after people had a hard time differentiating between George “The Animal” Steele and a Canadian black bear.

"Please Don't Feed or Recesitdate Black Bears. -- Canadian Park Rangers (CPR)"

During my formative years, I had the deepest respect for my Elders, thanks to the ‘70s television shows “Kung Fu” and “Shazam!” The only reason I wanted to be a Shaolin monk like Kwai Chang Caine and go on adventures was so I could spiritually evolve and become an Elder and give young, apprentice monks names like “Grasshopper,” or “Dung Beetle.”

In second grade when my hack optometrist diagnosed me with a severe stigmatism and prescribed lenses that looked like the bottoms of Coca-Cola bottles (hence the nickname “Coke Bottles Lindsey” at swim camp), I knew I had taken my first step into a larger world. Everyone knows if you want to be a credible prophet or a wise elder, you have to be blind, for it is written in the LARGE PRINT BOOKS.

And the only reason I wanted to be Shazam, other than probing the Elders for infinite wisdom and yelling “Shazam!” every time I needed a magic lightning bolt boost to fight evil or kick-start me after my afternoon cat nap, was so I could get into Isis’ pants.

Oh zephyr winds which blow on high,
Lift me now, so I can fly
With Almighty Isis to a motor lodge, nearby.

Come fly with me as the crow flies, Isis...

Unfortunately, I think it was the high frequency of impure thoughts such as these that helped kill any future as a prophet or wise elder, pounding the final nails into my coffin labeled with big, black stenciled letters spray-painted on the side: D.O.A.

Top Ten Bernie Madoff Tips for Investing (An Exercise in Futility)

For a cool $50 billion, Bernie Madoff managed to buy Satan's vacated seat in hell

Unlike trying to find a consistent pattern in winning Powerball lottery numbers, the Late Show’s Online Top Ten Contest winners have become increasingly more predictable in recent weeks. All of the Big Three — Joaquin Phoenix, Paul Blart, and Bernie Madoff – reared their heads in last week’s winning list.

However, I am starting to think the Top Ten Contest, like the Powerball, is rigged. Everyone knows that Big Brother created and rigs the Powerball Lottery to keep the masses distracted from perpetual metaphoric wars, covert and otherwise, and to pump a steady stream of hope into the poor masses — so they don’t rise up and overthrow the government. Duh…

Following suit, Letterman’s producers created the Top Ten Contest to give online readers the illusion that CBS actually cares what we think, or in my case, feeding my illusions of grandeur that one day Letterman’s people will discover me and offer me a job writing for the “Late Show.”

Last week, I incorporated two-thirds of the Big Three in my list of possible entries for the topic, “Top Ten Surprising Items in the Economic Bailout Plan,” but did not submit either one of them to the official contest. Instead I submitted the only vote-getter: “All banking CEOs get to pass Go and collect $2 million, split Free Parking pot and will receive one get-out-of-jail-free card.”

Fast forward to this week, and I refuse to be tempted by the Big Three, however, I have no choice this week since the list’s topic is an homage to Bernie Madoff. Moreover, I’m unwilling to let go of my illusions of grandeur, for this is what compels me to get out of bed every morning – at least I think it’s a bed.

Due to the recent demise of voter turnout among SSF readers, my quest to win the Holy “Online Late Show” t-shirt has devolved from an obsession to an exercise-in-futility. That said, here’s my top-ten list of possible entries to this week’s Top Ten contest. Once again, I’m soliciting your help – or not. I’ve written ten possible entries for this week’s list, and it’s up to you to help me select the CHOSEN ONE from the list (for I can only submit one) that you think has the best chance of winning.

Just think, with your help, all of this could be mine

This week’s list: Top Ten Bernie Madoff Tips for Investing

10. It takes other peoples’ money to make money

9. Buy stock in prisons

8. Everything I know about investing I learned from Jim Cramer on CNBC’s “Mad Money”

7. When the Feds come a knockin, start flushin’ the stock down

6. Screw Amway, think Ponzi

5. Avoid brokers with un-fortuitous names like Les Steele, Ben Had, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

4. When SEC’s not looking, switch Invisible Hand with Invisible Monkey’s Paw

3. Buy low, sell often

2. Trade all shares labeled “Made in USA” for shares labeled “Owned by China”

1. Send me a check for $10,000, and I will send you the real top ten tips

Don’t forget to indicate (in the Comments) which ONE of these I should submit to the Top Ten Contest.

Spring Forward: Daylight Savings Next Casualty in Economic Downturn

The Clock Also Rises

In states that still participate in Daylight Savings, which may soon be nationalized by the federal government if Americans continue to lose confidence in daylight and are reluctant to spend their time, everyone bemoans the loss of an hour – namely because they could have used the hour to reset all the clocks in the house.

But seriously, what would they have done any differently had they had that extra hour this weekend? I’m sure if we conducted a family-feudal survey, the survey’s number one answer would be: sleep. Of course this assumes that those surveyed do not have children or milk cows, whose biological clocks resist man-made cosmic alterations in the Timexian universe. By the time these biological clocks are completely recalibrated, it will be time to “Fall Back.”

In Iowa the designated witching-hour to either spring forward or fall back centers the 2 a.m. bar-closing time, thus clearing up any confusion among alcohol peddlers as to when they should stop nursing the drunks passed out at the bar. The delayed time-switch also provides the lonely beer-goggle populace an extra hour to lose even more focus as they zero in on their intended target, preferably the one in the middle – even though they’ve only locked in on one target.

Local drunk attempts to pull back clock's big hand to extend "last call"

So why do we still have Daylight Savings, which allows Mother Nature’s invisible hand to unhinge our time-structured world without any government oversight and/or transparency? Better yet, what are some of the advantages and disadvantages of Daylight Savings and the age-old prospect of Springing Forward?

ADVANTAGES:

Less time for our Do-Nothing Congress to do less of nothing

More daylight in the evening to watch your new Plasma television

Provides excuse to take off for lunch an hour earlier or justify extending your afternoon cat nap: “Really, it’s an hour later, so…”

Get your newspaper an hour earlier, so your metabolism can get a jump start digesting all of the depressing news

Milk cows, whose teats aren’t prematurely pulled, are less likely to conspire with the pigs and the horses in overthrowing the Animal Farm and/or the government

DISADVANGAGES:

More time for the GOP-arm of our Do-Nothing Congress to obstruct Congress from doing less of nothing

If you die before ‘Fall Back,” you’ll be robbed of an hour of precious life, assuming every hour of your life is not already preciousssssssssss…

More daylight in the evening to shed even more light on the melancholic faces of those folks who have lost their jobs, homes, dignity, or thought injecting botulism into their foreheads ten years ago seemed like a good idea at the time

More time for Rush Limbaugh’s shadow to eclipse the sun, especially after he has succeeded in fully consuming the GOP

Insomniac’s more likely to join Fight Club, but we’ll never really know, because the first rule of Fight Club is never talking about Fight Club (looks like my membership has just been revoked; now what Tyler?)

Fear and Exploding in the Real World: THIS IS NOT A BILL

Caution: contents may be hazardous to your health

Despite Therapist Bob’s new-age psychotherapy treatments, my fear of mailboxes returned last week. Albeit this fear may be irrational, since it’s not mailboxes themselves that I’m afraid of, rather what’s in them is what scares the living bejesus out of me.

Sometimes I feel blessed having stepped foot into the real world — leaving behind 18 imagined years of pain and suffering, frustrations stemming from having been exiled from the real world, a desire to run for the mere sake of running, a steady supply of hormonal Molotov cocktails calibrated by some sadistic power to go off at the most inopportune times (e.g. teacher calls on me to solve pi on the chalk board or stand up and give an impromptu speech on egg fertilization), and a misguided faith that the Cubs will one day win the World Series.

What a long, strange trip from the womb it’s been. Thank Flying Spaghetti Monster I had enough sense to wake up from this dream in time to register for the Selective Service on my 18th birthday.

Other times I regret having made the descent into the real world, especially when I’m shadowed and stalked by William (a.k.a. Bill) since my descent into the real world. Now the good William works in mysterious ways, often times sending out reconnaissance patrols to prepare intended targets for the eventual knock-out blow. He makes this clear with emboldened letters at the top of his message: “This is Not a Bill.” Not yet, anyhow.

Last week I received one of these non-Bills in my mailbox sandwiched between a stack of real Bills, which somehow, like me, managed to survive the imagined world. The difference between us, however, is that William survived adolescence with the express purpose of wreaking havoc on my reality, forcing me to long for the nostalgic pre-real world days.

The non-Bill in question was from my health insurance provider, Wellmark BlueCross Blueshield of Iowa and the heading of the recon-message read in all caps:

PREMIUM CHANGE NOTICE

THIS IS NOT A BILL

Given what the first paragraph said, the heading should have read:

BE PREPARED TO BE GREASED, WHACKED, OR SLOWLY BLED TO DEATH VIA WOODCHIPPER IN THE NEAR FUTURE

Welmark actuary caught on film crunching more numbers in woodchipper to help justify exponential premium increases

The Health-Insurance Syndicate wants to raise my monthly premium 17.3 percent from $529 to $629. My initial thought was that this was some sort of April Fools’ Day joke, since the effective change date is April 1. What reputable, LEGAL business can jack their price up 17 percent and still stay in business during an economic crisis? Reputability aside, the Big Health Insurance and Big Pharma are the only industries that can pull this off, while our employers, The Big Three Branches of Government, haggle over policy proposals as their bosses sit by and watch our savings accounts bleed to death, one painful payment at a time.

I plan on sending my Senators a letter voicing my concerns about the health industry’s price gouging and using the following heading:

PROFITTING FROM HUMAN MISERY IS IMMORAL

THIS IS NOT A THREAT

But my fear of mailboxes did not initially manifest with William’s Army, rather it stems back to 2002, when the community I lived in became a target for the “Smiley Face” piper bomber. In 2002, while living on a farm outside the small town of Tipton, Iowa, Luke Helder, 22, planted pipe bombs in peoples’ mailboxes. When later captured in New Mexico, Helder admitted to the terrorist crimes and said he did it, because he was angry at the the government.

To show his anger, Helder ironically planted pipe bombs across the country in a ‘smiley face’ pattern. Tragically, a bomb did explode in the face of one of the Tipton locals, Delores Werling, 70, who received third-degree burns. For the next week or so, we had to leave our mailboxes open at all times, thus ensuring nobody had tampered with them. Helder never stood trial for his deeds, because the courts labeled him mentally incompacitated.

Not only did this incident exacerbate my fear of mailboxes, but it led to my irrational fear of smiley faces. While I refuse to shop at Wal-Mart for several reasons, their smiley-face symbol helped solidify my self-exile from the Epicenter of Cheap Crap and Labor Exploitation. Moreover, I’m reluctant to go and see the new “Watchmen” film because of the smiley-face symbol with blood dripping from its forehead. Forget about all the violence, rape, and immoral activities in the graphic novel version, it’s the damned smiley face that will keep me away from seeing the comic unfold on the big screen.

Who is watching the Watchmen watching our mailboxes?

While so many other Americans ensnared in the current economic crisis are afraid to open their Bills or investment updates, I imagine mailbox phobia is growing exponentially. If I weren’t one of them, I guarantee I would start my own mail-opening business and serve as the middle-man between the victim and the impending financial blow waiting to spring out of the envelop like a jack-in-the-box. Don’t worry, mom; I would wear a helmet.

But what I’m really wondering now is: If a mailbox phobia, like planting bombs in shape of smiley face, is a legitimate mental health issue and I never opened my mail, do I really ever have Bills?

I guess there is only one way to find out (sinister laugh here)…