America: Wimps, Fatsos & Crybabies
by Martin Higgins

    WIMPS, FATSOS, CRYBABIES
 
            Fat people are driving up American fuel costs by $2.8 billion a year just hauling around the extra gut, ass, and fatback meat. Kids are as lazy as Belgian bricklayers and get little exercise other than reaching for second, third, and fourth helpings at the non-stop American feed that has all the nutritional value and food-group variety of a Moose Lodge Pancake Breakfast. 

            ​This is the result of our educational system; a loser-take-all racket operated by also-rans, set-aside malingerers, social just-us blowhards, and, lest we forget, a double scoop of Rubber Room Pedos. Contrary to common sense, many schools have outlawed handguns, Bowie knives, and French ticklers. 

            Some blithering dickstring District Supervisors have banned Dodge Ball, Tag, and giving out-and-out homos a playful swirly or cutting their hair. No wonder they're labeling anyone with a functioning frontal lobe and survival instinct a bully. 

            Imagine where America would be today if the brave men of the 82nd Airborne Division never played Tag, set rubbish fires, or mastered the intricacies of an Indian Rub Burn as a kid.
Trust me, McDonald's would be selling McSchnitzel Meals and we'd be buying our cars from the Japanese – not the faux-Jap Rednecks that assemble rice-burner compacts throughout Dixie – but the slack-jawed, masochistic Salary Men who buy soiled schoolgirl panties from vending machines at high-speed rail stations.

            Roll that around in your head for a couple of minutes and you'll be ready to get serious about making men out of our boys and girls out of the ones who can't hack it. Face it, Glee is here to stay, and when Hymietown West is done screwing up kids, there will be Glee -The Next Generation, Deep Space Nonce, Boyager, and Enterplease.

            Playgrounds no longer feature natural, physically challenging apparatus like abandoned refrigerators, derelict boxcars, and burned-out cars. Sure, everybody wants to ensure safety, but hell, how much damage can a kid do hanging out in a shack made out of pallets, exploring condemned factories, or hanging from a rope swing over a heap of concrete rubble? 

            When I was a kid we didn't need video games to have fun. Hell no. All we needed was one match, one firecracker, and one cat. What could be simpler... or more sustainable?

            But just that's the lost dream of an old man.

Now we all end up just getting fat and lazy, drinking and drugging ourselves into a state of simulated complacency. And, after years of carefree continence, having to line our boxers with shopping bags. What a choice, America... paper or plastic.

            We are a nation of wimps, fatsos, and crybabies because we have created a hypersensitive social and legal environment. Any risk may be actionable in court even if you have the greatest Bergsteinfarb lawyer in the world. I once had a Pollock sue me for defamation. He won the lawsuit and wound up having to pay me $1,600. Know why? Drunk Irish prosecutor, a dumb Kielbasa-bending client, and a puffy Landsman shyster who needed cash for his whelp's radical rhinoplasty and a valve job on his Lexus. 

            At school, kids are discouraged from playing - slapping, kicking, biting, horse-play menacing - that might make someone "feel bad." As if hurting someone's feelings was a bad thing. If that were so, marriage would be illegal.

            After all, a little dodgeball or rock fight never hurt anybody; not for very long anyway. If you get smacked, get medical attention, reconstructive orthodontia, and get over it. You'll be a better person for it.
    
            As Warren Spottswood once said to a snotty snaggletoothed waitress, “Well, I guess we don't need ALL our teeth, now, do we?”


Next time – “HEY! DUCK!... Jackass. 

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