Reverse Intervention
We start off with the everyman - let’s call him Bill - going about his day-to-day life. Bill works as a technician in a hospital. His hobbies include bowling and hunting with his dad. He’s neither outgoing nor amusing. So his friends, having noticed what a boring shit Bill is, stage an intervention. They cry about his stagnant life and how he can’t find a girlfriend because he’s a little pudgy. But mostly they insist that unless things change, they’ll be forced to cut off Bill. “We’re going be interesting whether you’re interesting or not,” the blubbering intervenors announce. So what must Bill do to keep his friends? Meth. He’ll trim right down - hello, ladies - thanks to his new, more glamorous hobby. He might even lose his drab job and end up wandering the streets, pulling out his teeth and throwing them at kids. All in all, he’ll be a fuck of a lot more fun.
Extreme Couponing: After the Shop
What happens after you’ve compiled a garage-size stockpile of sundry items for $2.47? This show. You got 108 safety razors for free. Congratulations. Now “After the Shop” is giving you one month in which to use them. Do all your normal shaving. Then shave the kids. Then your friends. Then your kids’ friends. Then the pets. Then the other neighborhood pets. Then go to the pound, adopt all of its dogs and shave them too. Hit the zoo to see if anyone will allow you to shave an elephant. This is of course happening in conjunction with your efforts to consume 86 jars of peanut butter. Heroic cost-cutters or pre-hoarders? You be the judge.
The Queen
Why does the British royal family have to be so standoffish? Really, when you think about it, they don’t have the right to be since they live off government handouts, and when you sponge off the system transparency is a must. So let’s get the cameras in to follow the Queen, Prince Phillip, and the younger generation as they go about their daily business. Guaranteed to be in the first season: Prince Harry’s dick; Charles wondering aloud just when the fuck his mom will have the decency to die; Kate Middleton vomiting; Prince Phillip calling his black subjects “those damn coloreds”; the Queen calling David Cameron queer.
I got a million more of these,
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Friday, November 9, 2012
Who Wants to be a Millionaire
I’m back. Despite my cramped law school schedule, something so ridiculous has occurred that I have little choice but to discuss it. In the wake of Obama’s reelection Donald Trump has called for a revolution. DONALD. TRUMP. REVOLUTION.
I’m sorry, but hasn’t America worked out pretty well for this retard? We haven’t discriminated against him for being euphemistically special. In fact, America has allowed him to cultivate the world’s lowest IQ to wealth ratio. He’s a goddamn record-holder, ladies and gentlemen.
Poor little Donnie would probably argue that he accumulated his wealth back in the good ol‘ days when folks worked hard and there was no government or whatever, but things have changed, and Donnie’s become a victim. “It’s not traditional America anymore.” See The Gospel According to Bill O’Reilly, White Power Press (2012). All these so-called people - who are infuriatingly not white - are now voting and they “want stuff.” Id. at #racialpurity. And who’s going give these greedy have-nots “stuff?” Why, haves like Donald of course.
Oh what to do, what to do. Well, revolt of course (i.e., start a race war). They’ll probably kick things off with welfare recipients, beating them with clubs and shouting “We’re buying you Cadillacs!” Then all the illegal immigrants who aren’t their personal nannies, gardeners, etc. will be sent somewhere awful like Greenland or Appalachia. “We’re sick of paying for your kids to learn to read!” Up next Hispanic-Americans get the guillotine. “Why can’t we convince you to vote against your own self interest?!” Chop. You get the picture.
This whole joke only works (and I’m not sure it does) because Trump is one of the few Americans without a reason to revolt. Indeed the rest of us who get “stuff” from the government on Donald’s tab should revolt on grounds of insufficient “stuff.” For example, do you know just how poor you have to be to qualify for Medicaid? Like, super-duper poor. Family-of-12-on-$8-a-year poor. Kid-with-distended-stomach-and-swarming-flies poor. Even with Obamacare, your standard poor person like me still has to buy over-priced insurance from private providers. Meanwhile, the super rich pay so little in taxes that if those ghastly proles in power let the Bush tax cuts expire in secret, only Scrooge McDuck would notice because only he swims in a pool of his own cash. If there’s a class war going on, you’re winning.
I’m simply at a loss as to what rich white men have to complain about. So there are fewer of you around. So “traditional values” are less important than they used to be. So the President is only half white. So the fuck what? You still hold the vast majority of power and privilege in this country, and having an elite half-white man beat an elite whole-white man doesn’t change that. Believe me, the rest of us aren’t coming after you. We got other shit to worry about.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Jumping the Shark with Clint Eastwood
At what point did Republicans officially jump the shark? The question is hard to answer, because jumping the shark – a “Happy Days” reference, I believe, involving the Fonz, his motorcycle, and a shark tank – no longer seems like an apt metaphor. If you jump the shark, you’ve lost the plot and need to be redirected. Inherent in this is an attachment to reality, or at least the potential for a re-attachment. Republicans are past this. They’re jumping the Loch Ness Monster on a unicorn.
The thing that continues to astound me is that people are still listening, still taking seriously the insanity Republicans vomit day after day. There’s a new frontrunner for the presidential nomination every 6 hours, and each and every one of them is explicitly promising to turn our presently dysfunctional society into a veritable dystopia. They scoff at the idea that we should create jobs through investment in the nation’s infrastructure, an infrastructure so astoundingly awful that it has received a D grade from the American Society of Civil Engineers; simply put, they say, we don’t have that kind of money, so our roads, bridges, public transportation, and all the rest will just have to crumble. What we DO have money for is the construction of a massive wall along the US-Mexican border, patrolled 24 hours a day by minimum-wage private contractors with assault rifles. Lovely.
While I am opposed on principle to dividing countries by a wall – Do we fear an invasion by the Visigoths? What is wrong with us? – I wouldn’t be quite so scathing if Republicans had a plan in place to finance such a project. They don’t, of course, because the right wing is waging war on revenue. Not corporate revenue, which should of course should be maximized. Greed is good. No, the real problem is government revenue, because that has to come from taxes, which are evil. How Republicans are convincing people of this, I couldn’t say. It seems like such a no-brainer. People who are much, much richer than you should pay a little bit more so that you, working class retiree, can afford your Lipitor. The old folks who make up the Republican base are either suicidally gullible or just plain suicidal. Or genuinely fearful of the Visigoths.
Lest you label me a partisan, I submit that the Democrats are not much better. Both parties seem to have missed the memo on how trickle-down economics doesn’t work; both parties are dragging their feet on campaign finance reform, because both parties are accepting wildly generous donations from Wall Street baddies; neither party has demanded a single-payer healthcare option; neither party has made real headway on environmental issues. Basically, the political system as a whole is rocketing away from reason, but the Democrats seem at least vaguely aware of this fact. This makes them the good guys, kind of like Clint Eastwood is the titular Good in “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.” He’s a murdering, money-hungry sociopath, but next to the wicked deeds and visages of the Bad and the Ugly, he’s Gandhi.
I guess that’s what it all boils down to: American politics is a spaghetti western, and should be treated accordingly. Let’s stop waiting on a hero and just appoint Clint Eastwood Supreme Dear Leader of the Universe. Stupider things have happened.
The thing that continues to astound me is that people are still listening, still taking seriously the insanity Republicans vomit day after day. There’s a new frontrunner for the presidential nomination every 6 hours, and each and every one of them is explicitly promising to turn our presently dysfunctional society into a veritable dystopia. They scoff at the idea that we should create jobs through investment in the nation’s infrastructure, an infrastructure so astoundingly awful that it has received a D grade from the American Society of Civil Engineers; simply put, they say, we don’t have that kind of money, so our roads, bridges, public transportation, and all the rest will just have to crumble. What we DO have money for is the construction of a massive wall along the US-Mexican border, patrolled 24 hours a day by minimum-wage private contractors with assault rifles. Lovely.
While I am opposed on principle to dividing countries by a wall – Do we fear an invasion by the Visigoths? What is wrong with us? – I wouldn’t be quite so scathing if Republicans had a plan in place to finance such a project. They don’t, of course, because the right wing is waging war on revenue. Not corporate revenue, which should of course should be maximized. Greed is good. No, the real problem is government revenue, because that has to come from taxes, which are evil. How Republicans are convincing people of this, I couldn’t say. It seems like such a no-brainer. People who are much, much richer than you should pay a little bit more so that you, working class retiree, can afford your Lipitor. The old folks who make up the Republican base are either suicidally gullible or just plain suicidal. Or genuinely fearful of the Visigoths.
Lest you label me a partisan, I submit that the Democrats are not much better. Both parties seem to have missed the memo on how trickle-down economics doesn’t work; both parties are dragging their feet on campaign finance reform, because both parties are accepting wildly generous donations from Wall Street baddies; neither party has demanded a single-payer healthcare option; neither party has made real headway on environmental issues. Basically, the political system as a whole is rocketing away from reason, but the Democrats seem at least vaguely aware of this fact. This makes them the good guys, kind of like Clint Eastwood is the titular Good in “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.” He’s a murdering, money-hungry sociopath, but next to the wicked deeds and visages of the Bad and the Ugly, he’s Gandhi.
I guess that’s what it all boils down to: American politics is a spaghetti western, and should be treated accordingly. Let’s stop waiting on a hero and just appoint Clint Eastwood Supreme Dear Leader of the Universe. Stupider things have happened.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
The Great (Wo)Man Theory
Three 20th century figures still ruining our lives today:
Ronald Reagan
Holy mother of god, if one more person says “Well he may not have been perfect, but he did win the Cold War,” I’m going to shit myself. Presiding over the end of a war is different than winning it. Soviet-style communism had had one foot in the grave since 1917. Political systems in which extravagantly-mustachioed despots are able to intentionally and unnecessarily starve millions of their own citizens don’t last forever. When Ukrainians started eating each other, that was the beginning of the end. Perestroika was more about bread than missiles.
So if we cross off “Won the Cold War” from our list of pros, what are we left with? I’m having trouble coming up with one. On the con side, I have “Once said that ‘Government is not the solution to our problem; government is the problem,’ thereby bequeathing upon the American people a pernicious legacy of small-government fundamentalism that continues to destroy us from the inside out.”
Margaret Thatcher
The UK’s answer to Ronald Reagan. We can thank her for lots of the austerity bullshit currently preventing Europe from appropriately handling its sovereign debt crisis.
Ayn Rand
L. Ron Hubbard wrote (science) fiction that transmogrified into holy scripture. While I think we can all agree that Scientologists are crazy, their influence is mercifully limited to bad actors.
Ayn Rand on the other hand wrote fiction that transmogrified into holy scripture, and that holy scripture influenced people like Alan Greenspan. From what I’ve been able to piece together, Ayn Rand’s argument was that poor people should be left to die because they’re not as good as rich people. This argument gels nicely with libertarianism – perhaps the most puerile political theory to ever receive serious mainstream consideration – and now forms the basis of the modern Republican Party. The fact that they’ve latched on to social Darwinism while rejecting real Darwinism tells you pretty much all you need to know about the GOP’s intellectual rigor.
Ronald Reagan
Holy mother of god, if one more person says “Well he may not have been perfect, but he did win the Cold War,” I’m going to shit myself. Presiding over the end of a war is different than winning it. Soviet-style communism had had one foot in the grave since 1917. Political systems in which extravagantly-mustachioed despots are able to intentionally and unnecessarily starve millions of their own citizens don’t last forever. When Ukrainians started eating each other, that was the beginning of the end. Perestroika was more about bread than missiles.
So if we cross off “Won the Cold War” from our list of pros, what are we left with? I’m having trouble coming up with one. On the con side, I have “Once said that ‘Government is not the solution to our problem; government is the problem,’ thereby bequeathing upon the American people a pernicious legacy of small-government fundamentalism that continues to destroy us from the inside out.”
Margaret Thatcher
The UK’s answer to Ronald Reagan. We can thank her for lots of the austerity bullshit currently preventing Europe from appropriately handling its sovereign debt crisis.
Ayn Rand
L. Ron Hubbard wrote (science) fiction that transmogrified into holy scripture. While I think we can all agree that Scientologists are crazy, their influence is mercifully limited to bad actors.
Ayn Rand on the other hand wrote fiction that transmogrified into holy scripture, and that holy scripture influenced people like Alan Greenspan. From what I’ve been able to piece together, Ayn Rand’s argument was that poor people should be left to die because they’re not as good as rich people. This argument gels nicely with libertarianism – perhaps the most puerile political theory to ever receive serious mainstream consideration – and now forms the basis of the modern Republican Party. The fact that they’ve latched on to social Darwinism while rejecting real Darwinism tells you pretty much all you need to know about the GOP’s intellectual rigor.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Brother, can you spare a dime?
During the first Great Depression – it’s total bullshit to call what we’re in the now the Great Recession; it’s been too lengthy and too crippling to be lumped in with previous recessions, which were mostly brief and non-devastating affairs – the shantytowns that sprung up around the country were referred to as “Hoovervilles.” The reference, of course, was to President Herbert Hoover, perceived architect of the Great Depression. There’s a certain zing to that name. Hooverville. What should we call the neo-Hoovervilles that are fast becoming a familiar site in populous areas?
Well, at the moment we’re calling them Occupy ________. Occupy Pittsburgh, Occupy Oakland, Occupy Detroit, etc, but Occupy ________ just isn’t catchy enough. Here’s what I propose: Boehnervilles. Good, right? I was thinking Reaganville would be more accurate, but why hearken back to ancient history, i.e. the 80’s? Norquistville doesn’t really roll off the tongue, although again it has the virtue of accuracy. Ditto Gingrichville. I chose Boehnerville mostly because Boehner looks like it should be pronounced “boner,” which makes it funny. Plus, he’s an orange dick. I’m open to other ideas if anyone wants to share…
Well, at the moment we’re calling them Occupy ________. Occupy Pittsburgh, Occupy Oakland, Occupy Detroit, etc, but Occupy ________ just isn’t catchy enough. Here’s what I propose: Boehnervilles. Good, right? I was thinking Reaganville would be more accurate, but why hearken back to ancient history, i.e. the 80’s? Norquistville doesn’t really roll off the tongue, although again it has the virtue of accuracy. Ditto Gingrichville. I chose Boehnerville mostly because Boehner looks like it should be pronounced “boner,” which makes it funny. Plus, he’s an orange dick. I’m open to other ideas if anyone wants to share…
Friday, October 21, 2011
Enough lucre to make Midas blush
There’s a website out there that you MUST visit immediately: Actually, you’re the 47%.
Allow me to provide a bit of context. Members of the Occupy Wall Street movement have been garnering attention of late by claiming that the bottom 99% of Americans are being financially raped by the top 1%, which is a pretty accurate depiction of the state of our union. So some partisan hack whose name I can’t remember and isn’t worth mentioning anyway, decided that the 21st century incarnation of Nixon’s silent majority needed its own catchy number slogan. He latched onto the number 53, which apparently represents the percentage of Americans who pay income tax, and created a website in celebration of these Fine Americans.
The 53 percenters’ website consists of photographs of said Fine Americans holding copies their own personal, one-page autobiographies/manifestoes, all of which end with the sentence, “I am the 53%.” In terms of tone, the written works run the gamut from “poor me” to “woe is me.” You know, I used to have to walk to school uphill both ways, barefoot in blizzards without a coat, returning home to a dinner of pond water and dog food. That kind of shit. But the moral of the story is that despite it all, nay BECAUSE of it all, I’ve survived and perhaps even prospered. I don’t blame Wall Street or rich people for my problems, and neither should you because this is America goddammit, and we’re the greatest country on earth. If you’re thinking that this isn’t the logical conclusion to draw from a back story that includes dog food dinners, you’re right. It’s safe to say that they’re shooting from the gut, not the brain.
Now, I genuinely am one of the 53% of Americans who pays income tax, by virtue of being childless and earning somewhat more than the average Wal-Mart employee, which I guess makes me a Fine American. The same could not be said of a sizable portion of the posters on the 53 percenters’ website, which includes entries from full-time students, housewives, the unemployed, and a bizarrely high percentage of current and former pizza-delivery people who may or may not be affiliated with Herman Cain. These people, I think it’s safe to say, do not pay income tax as a great many of them have no income. I’m not blaming them for that, but this is the raison d’être of the “Actually, you’re the 47%” website. If you’re driving a car with 265,000 miles on it to deliver pizzas to frat boys, don’t brag about how virtuous you are for paying income tax, because the fact is you don’t.
That doesn’t mean that my status as an income tax payer makes me virtuous, because that would be silly. I was born lucky. At the same time, eating dog food doesn’t make you virtuous. If you had a shitty life, I feel for you, and if you clawed your way out of poverty, I admire you, but that doesn’t automatically make you wise. Being a 53 percenter, however, does automatically make you an idiot. You’re on your high horse, bragging about how you don’t blame anyone else for your problems, but that’s a pretty stupid position to take if your misfortune is in fact someone’s fault. Do you know why black people blame white people for slavery? Because it was white peoples’ fault. Well, you and I are in financial slavery. We’re owned by the mega-rich, and we didn’t get a say in the matter; our elected “representatives” have also been bought. Our circumstances are wholly dependent on the whims of a few men with enough lucre to make Midas blush. On your behalf, I blame Wall Street.
So here’s to the 47% and the 99% and all the OWS folks. Those protestors may smell funny and get in my way each evening when I’m walking from the office to the train, but I still love ‘em, and I don’t care if the message is muddy. It doesn’t matter, because only eggheads worry about shit like that. Finally income inequality and capitalism and unemployment and underemployment are at the forefront of public discourse, which I didn’t even think was possible. This is attention-seeking populism at its finest. Please don’t go home, except maybe for a quick shower.
Allow me to provide a bit of context. Members of the Occupy Wall Street movement have been garnering attention of late by claiming that the bottom 99% of Americans are being financially raped by the top 1%, which is a pretty accurate depiction of the state of our union. So some partisan hack whose name I can’t remember and isn’t worth mentioning anyway, decided that the 21st century incarnation of Nixon’s silent majority needed its own catchy number slogan. He latched onto the number 53, which apparently represents the percentage of Americans who pay income tax, and created a website in celebration of these Fine Americans.
The 53 percenters’ website consists of photographs of said Fine Americans holding copies their own personal, one-page autobiographies/manifestoes, all of which end with the sentence, “I am the 53%.” In terms of tone, the written works run the gamut from “poor me” to “woe is me.” You know, I used to have to walk to school uphill both ways, barefoot in blizzards without a coat, returning home to a dinner of pond water and dog food. That kind of shit. But the moral of the story is that despite it all, nay BECAUSE of it all, I’ve survived and perhaps even prospered. I don’t blame Wall Street or rich people for my problems, and neither should you because this is America goddammit, and we’re the greatest country on earth. If you’re thinking that this isn’t the logical conclusion to draw from a back story that includes dog food dinners, you’re right. It’s safe to say that they’re shooting from the gut, not the brain.
Now, I genuinely am one of the 53% of Americans who pays income tax, by virtue of being childless and earning somewhat more than the average Wal-Mart employee, which I guess makes me a Fine American. The same could not be said of a sizable portion of the posters on the 53 percenters’ website, which includes entries from full-time students, housewives, the unemployed, and a bizarrely high percentage of current and former pizza-delivery people who may or may not be affiliated with Herman Cain. These people, I think it’s safe to say, do not pay income tax as a great many of them have no income. I’m not blaming them for that, but this is the raison d’être of the “Actually, you’re the 47%” website. If you’re driving a car with 265,000 miles on it to deliver pizzas to frat boys, don’t brag about how virtuous you are for paying income tax, because the fact is you don’t.
That doesn’t mean that my status as an income tax payer makes me virtuous, because that would be silly. I was born lucky. At the same time, eating dog food doesn’t make you virtuous. If you had a shitty life, I feel for you, and if you clawed your way out of poverty, I admire you, but that doesn’t automatically make you wise. Being a 53 percenter, however, does automatically make you an idiot. You’re on your high horse, bragging about how you don’t blame anyone else for your problems, but that’s a pretty stupid position to take if your misfortune is in fact someone’s fault. Do you know why black people blame white people for slavery? Because it was white peoples’ fault. Well, you and I are in financial slavery. We’re owned by the mega-rich, and we didn’t get a say in the matter; our elected “representatives” have also been bought. Our circumstances are wholly dependent on the whims of a few men with enough lucre to make Midas blush. On your behalf, I blame Wall Street.
So here’s to the 47% and the 99% and all the OWS folks. Those protestors may smell funny and get in my way each evening when I’m walking from the office to the train, but I still love ‘em, and I don’t care if the message is muddy. It doesn’t matter, because only eggheads worry about shit like that. Finally income inequality and capitalism and unemployment and underemployment are at the forefront of public discourse, which I didn’t even think was possible. This is attention-seeking populism at its finest. Please don’t go home, except maybe for a quick shower.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Which would you rather do, sleep or live?
At the moment, I’m reading “Life” by Keith Richards, and it’s kind of making me want to write my own memoir. Keith mentions that for many years, he slept only twice a week – presumably due to the gross over-consumption of certain illegal substances – and has therefore lived more life than the rest of us; hence, his memoir is quite extensive. Being 40 years Keith’s junior and a daily sleeper, my memoir is decidedly brief. Here are some highlights…
I am born in Ann Arbor, Michigan, the only child of an age-inappropriate, quasi-interfaith marriage; my father is Catholic, my mother Jewish. Thankfully neither believes in god so faith is moot, which leaves me free me to drop out of Hebrew school aged 4. Also, Easter is all chocolate, no bloodied Jesus. Some of my very first words are “Bryan Adams.”
I have a rough time at school because everyone thinks I am weird. Being a member of the local silent film society doesn’t win me any popularity contests, although I am finally elected to student council in fifth grade after the implementation of some complex rules which effectively disqualified everyone else. The only other person on the ballot is my best friend, Alanna, who never did forgive me for her defeat. We go our separate ways soon after, but I later hear a rumor that she performed oral sex on her whole high school football team. Alanna, if by chance you’re reading this, please confirm or deny.
I’ve blocked out my 11th and 12th years. They were not happy. I eventually transfer to a ritzy prep school after some public school hooligans bestow upon me the nickname “Bush Lady.” I think it had something to do with pubic hair. Anyway, I stopped letting them copy my math homework after that. Once I turned out to be a bust, they conned some Asian kid named David into being the new me. The summer before transferring schools, I manage to break my neck. Due to the sweltering heat, I emit buckets of sweat into my neckbrace, which in turn begins to smell like a dead raccoon.
Despite my charming aroma of decomposition, I find private school to be intermittently bearable. I become friends with Katie – who did not go on to perform any sex acts on entire sports teams – and together we have our first Keith Richards-esque experience: On a school trip to Washington DC, we drink vast quantities of Jolt Cola – tween crack – and sleep very little. Katie and I see the Stones a few times during high school, thinking Keith might keel over at any moment. Thus far, he has not.
I spend one terrifically unhappy and expensive summer in Europe before starting college.
I think that’ll do for now. If you enjoyed this, you can stay tuned for future installments in which I discover that the carbonation in beer makes it come back up, and that feuds between francophone and germanophone Swiss kept Switzerland out of the European Union. In other words, college.
I am born in Ann Arbor, Michigan, the only child of an age-inappropriate, quasi-interfaith marriage; my father is Catholic, my mother Jewish. Thankfully neither believes in god so faith is moot, which leaves me free me to drop out of Hebrew school aged 4. Also, Easter is all chocolate, no bloodied Jesus. Some of my very first words are “Bryan Adams.”
I have a rough time at school because everyone thinks I am weird. Being a member of the local silent film society doesn’t win me any popularity contests, although I am finally elected to student council in fifth grade after the implementation of some complex rules which effectively disqualified everyone else. The only other person on the ballot is my best friend, Alanna, who never did forgive me for her defeat. We go our separate ways soon after, but I later hear a rumor that she performed oral sex on her whole high school football team. Alanna, if by chance you’re reading this, please confirm or deny.
I’ve blocked out my 11th and 12th years. They were not happy. I eventually transfer to a ritzy prep school after some public school hooligans bestow upon me the nickname “Bush Lady.” I think it had something to do with pubic hair. Anyway, I stopped letting them copy my math homework after that. Once I turned out to be a bust, they conned some Asian kid named David into being the new me. The summer before transferring schools, I manage to break my neck. Due to the sweltering heat, I emit buckets of sweat into my neckbrace, which in turn begins to smell like a dead raccoon.
Despite my charming aroma of decomposition, I find private school to be intermittently bearable. I become friends with Katie – who did not go on to perform any sex acts on entire sports teams – and together we have our first Keith Richards-esque experience: On a school trip to Washington DC, we drink vast quantities of Jolt Cola – tween crack – and sleep very little. Katie and I see the Stones a few times during high school, thinking Keith might keel over at any moment. Thus far, he has not.
I spend one terrifically unhappy and expensive summer in Europe before starting college.
I think that’ll do for now. If you enjoyed this, you can stay tuned for future installments in which I discover that the carbonation in beer makes it come back up, and that feuds between francophone and germanophone Swiss kept Switzerland out of the European Union. In other words, college.
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