The world is going to shit and I know nothing about it. Huzzah. Yes, it's true. I am the least informed person on all American wartime activities. So who better to write an article for L&E about the big bad war on terror than stuck on stupid me?
So here's the rundown of what is happening right now: Iraq has, like, some stuff that they hid in a basement, and they refuse to admit it. I don't see anything really wrong with this. My mother hides our Christmas presents in the basement, and everyone knows that they're there, but we just let her believe she's fooled us again. There's no need to send in a SWAT team and inspect the furnace room for an on-sale Gap sweater, is there? No. So why do it to Saddam?
Anyhoo, I guess the UN didn't find anything, so they came home and got mad and were like, "We didn't see a 90 dollar pair of jeans. Kill the bastard."
So now we have a war. And President Ritz (that buttery smooth cracka) is sending people my age who passed the presidential fitness exam in 7th grade while the rest of us nerds read Catcher in the Rye and cried during sit and reach to Iraq, where they will take pictures with children and then kill their families when it's dark out.
Now. I don't like Saddam one bit. He's the J-Lo of the Dictator World, plastering pictures of himself all over the god damn place and even coming out with a designer fragrance, only instead of "fresh-sexy-cool", Saddam's smells like camel piss and rifles. Come and get it, ladies!
I'm also not a big fan of facial hair. Woof.
So to sum up the intro, we are good and everyone is bad, and some things will get blowed up right and proper and I live 3 blocks from the Empire State Building any my first cat's name was Mork.
There you have it.
Now. You may be thinking to yourself, or you may not be. In any case, I go to NYU, and live with the brilliant Jen and together we feed our need for academia by watching That 70's Show and commenting on Kelso's slighly noticeable changes in hairstyle. It is this kind of keen detective work that keeps us as sharp as pencils on SAT day.
How then, you must wonder, can I be so ignorant about world politics? The answer, my friend, is the New York City news. Because yes, I live in New York City. And no, I don't know your cousin Ron who lives there. Stop asking.
Gone are the days when I could settle in to my common room in Boston and listen to the wisdom of Joe Shortsleeve. No longer do I live in a hipster community where the underground was aboveground and annoyingly in my face. No longer do I have classes with people who could tell you all about the seedy underworld of the US government but could not master the basics of personal hygiene.
Oh no. Now I live in the biggest target of foreign and domestic attacks in the whole country, and the top story at night is always about J-Lo's ninth husband or how to ride a bike in case the subway breaks down. Can I pedal like a champ? You betcha. But can I point to Jordan on a map? Alas, I can not.
Yes. It is the easiest finger to point (the pointer finger). The NYC nightly news has watered down my brain like my mother always watered down my Campbell's Chicken Noodle. But then again, I, obviously, have developmental issues that suggest I am a four year old in a 21 year old body, simply because I prefer condensed soup, even though that Progresso-hawking bitch on television says that "grown-ups" eat ready made soup. What a vicious wretch she is.
But the news is really the same everywhere, in that its wrong, stupid, and led by people who use Aqua-Net like oxygen. So beyond the news, who is to blame for my ignorance? God knows it ain't me! So it must be my parents.
Most people blame their parents for everything and I am not one of them. But in this case, I find it important to note that my father works for the sketchiest company in the world, in a CIA sort of subsidiary of a mega-co known as DynCorp. Just recently, surfing the internet and spying on my father as always, I came across a site called www.dyncorp-sucks.com, which labeled my father's company "The Whore of War".
Perhaps this is why my father often disappears on business trips and comes back with nuclear missiles that he hides in our basement.
My crazy European boyfriend just returned to the States with visions of Anti-America dancing in his head. I told him my grandfather was a WW2 Marine who took 8 bullets from the Japanese so that he could bring his Irish ass over here for a top-notch American public school edumacatsion and then I took him for a pint. He had a Guinness and I had an Amstel light, a watered down beer for the watered down Mick that I am. Damn my father's 10% French Canadian blood. Love you Jen.
So in the end, I'm stupid, and my city is going to be attacked very soon, which doesn't seem to worry anyone at Channel 7, who are too busy finding ways to use the leftover Christmas ham-bone as a Valentine's Day centerpiece.
God Bless the USA.