When we face the darkest of economic times, it takes a special breed of entertainer to lift our spirits as a nation.
Entertainers who can set aside their own personal fears to help the masses forget theirs.
Entertainers who can break down long-standing taboos thereby changing the direction of an entire industry.
Entertainers who can empathize with the double-edged sword of having opposable thumbs.
That’s right. Much like when an ailing nation, still reeling from an energy crisis and mired in a recession, turned to an orangutan named Clyde and a chimp named Bear, it’s once again time to welcome simian-based humor into our lives.
In these uncertain times of financial and political turmoil, it may be time for Americans to finally heed the call of sacrifice and once again give back to this nation that has given us so much. Much like our grandparents did during the days of the last great rift in economic and international relations, it’s time for ordinary citizens to rise up and do extraordinary things to ensure our most basic freedoms for future generations.
Or you could just say to heck with it and spend the next 2 minutes and 42 seconds watching a man play Europe’s “The Final Countdown” on a homemade ukelele/piano/kazoo.
Recently, I took the boys on our not-so-frequent trip to the hair removal store. I like to refer to this particular establishment as a hair removal store because I cannot bring myself to admit I bring my sons to a “hair dresser” or a “salon” to get their hair cut. I was raised by my father to get my follicles removed exclusively by:
A. A man.
B. A man, who had one point served in the armed forces (or at the very least had a debilitating hunting injury) and cut your hair accordingly.
C. A man, who had at one point served in the armed forces, and had the good sense to offer a fine selection of automobile, sports and recreational firearms (or if I was luck enough, Boys Life) magazines for your perusal while you waited for the barber chair to become available.
A small part of me is ashamed that I don’t take my sons to one of these types of places and probably ranks high on the list of the ways my father is disappointed in me wedged right in between “Looks like a 7-year-old girl when using a hammer,” and “Presence seems to actually repel sport fish when near streams, lakes and oceans.”
Nonetheless, because of the strip-mall convenience of our world, I found myself at the hair removal store once again. While I was staving off an overly curious 4-year-old (‘Why does that lady smell so bad?”) and an instinctively destructive 2-year-old (Who even knew they put hair gel in glass bottles?) while every octogenarian in the county got their bi-annual dye, set, shellac, and sealer, I noticed this sign:
Clip-In Hair Extensions
$12 per extension Sorry, hair is non-returnable
I immediately realized how bad our economy really is. If you have to warn people that they’re not going to be able to barter with you concerning their slightly used $12 fake hair purchase, you know we’ve fallen on hard times.
“Yeah… so… this be awkward… but the doctor said it can flare up about once a month and that ye should probably get down to the clinic to get yourself checked out. What can I sayeth? Rumspringa was hella crazy in ’04!”
Reports of inappropriate adult-on-pretzel contact have risen 130% in Lancaster County in the past year. Experts attribute this meteoric rise to increased media coverage of Auntie Anne’s risque fashion line targeted towards teen girls prominently featuring the tagline “Salty” in suggestive areas of the clothing.
I’m willing to accept many things about the anthropomorphic animal residents of Richard Scarry’s Busytown at face value. For instance, I can overlook the fact that the only townsperson to wear a shoe is also the only one to not have any feet on to which he could insert said footwear (One Lowly the worm).
However, I cannot accept that in an idyllic village where cats, dogs, rabbits, mice and the occasional immoral gorilla can live together in harmony, the community would allow out and out cannibalism in the form of a pig becoming a hot dog vendor.