Hola, trash. You've missed us desperately. In our absence, natch, the world went down the toilet. Debt ceilings and ratings downgrades and stock sell-offs and scary fundamentalist hoote-nannies. The economy is smoking crack with Whitney Houston in some bathroom in Pocatello.
What's America to do?
Might we suggest heading south? Get off your knees, trash. We meant to say if we could all just pile into a jet and dash down to the tropics where the locals are brown and our drinks arrive in coconuts, it might just reawaken the spring in our step. You know, just like in those Corona commercials.
Why? Because, as illuminated through the magic of infographics, the average penis length of an American male is 5.1 inches. Whereas our firey Latin American amigos are packing chalupas averaging 7. It is Ecuador, as a matter of fact, who's spiderman underoos are straining most. Those little dickens weild the largest average shame hoses in the world.
P.S. We'll vouch for that. We've known an Ecuadoran on the right side of the bell curve. Poor thing could barely walk (nor could we, after making his acquaintence). But he could foxtrot like a pro.
But who cares about the heft of one's wee donnie doblin? We're rich, bee-yotch. Right?
Yes, comparatively. In fact, we have our relatively runty pants sausages to thank for our economic bounty.
Whatchoo talkin' bout?
Well, infographics strike again and prove beyond a doubt that the bigger the collective pants viper, the lazier the national economy. Plainly, if you live in a place where the menzes are smuggling anacondas in their froot-of-the-looms, your chief exports are reefer and coconuts. ExxonMobil owns the deed to your five acre coca farm and you live with your 75,000 children in a sewer-front refrigerator box. But if your 2xists are lair to a shy and diminuative earth worm, the world is your oyster and you're flying business class. For now.
See, suddenly the fastest growing economy in The Americas is Peru, and Brazil's economy is bigger than the rest of the continent combined. Brazil, in fact, is growing so fast and is in danger of overheating. And it used to be that overheated Brazilians lead only to triplets, ghonorreah, and naked samba gangs.
So now the world is rapidly waking up to the fact that enormous endowments are a safe haven investment. While our CEOs were obsessing over the size of the yacht moored in Palm Beach, they should have been more concerned with the size of the schooners they dock regularly at the shame cove marina.
Proof? Increasingly stringent immigration laws have crippled the agricultural industry in Georgia and other states.
The moral, of course, is don't hesitate to hire Carlos to trim your hedges, regardless of the authenticity of his papers. Heck, real American businessmen don't care about pesky legalities. For not only is Carlos schlepping a delectably juicy encherito grande, he'll make you rich. He's like a leprechaun that way.
And now, our esteemed contributor Aunt Betsy (the universe's most irresponsible advice columnist), has a word or two for Jason and Andrew Cobb, the two nice boys from Alberta, Minnesota who strangled their mother to death because she wanted to play Yahtzee. Aunt Betsy, infamous Yahtzee Nazi, felt compelled to respond.
Take it away Bets!!
Well hi-dee-ho-dee-diddle-dee-dee! I find myself reclining on my aqua and chartreuse Broyhill chaise with magic fingers, a half-drunk pitcher of singapore slings on my House Beautiful Deluxe Daniel Boone Wagon Wheel side table.
Truth be told, Aunt Betsy needed at least half a pitcher of singapore slings for this. I have several things to say to you, young masters Jason and Andrew Cobb.
First, satan looks forward to eff-ing you up the A until glory brings us home. Apologies for stating the obvious.
More to the point, our nation's youth are fat little abominations, playing world of warcraft, sexting congressmen and sassing the crossing guard. Our school system must immediately force all children to play Yahtzee, non-stop, at least every Tuesday and Thursday.
For Yahtzee is a cornucopia of life lessons, such as you best fill the top part of your card first, before you take a Chance. Full House is for homos. Don't roll too many Yahtzees in a row or your Yahtzee league might deem you a witch and beat you to death with a swiffer handle. And perhaps most important, should you find yourself engaged in a regulation sudden-death tie-breaking knife fight, keep your teeth clinched on the bandana and go for the throat. But I digress.
Jason, Andrew, your mother wanted to play Yahtzee so you put a plastic bag over her head, strangled her with a belt and put her in a trash can out in the garage. Heavens to Mergatroid, whatever would you have done had the wretched woman invited you to play Scattergories? Slice open her abdomen and sell her spleen to Korea?
So instead of experiencing the inspiring rush of shaking five dice in a cup and hoping for four of a kind, you'll be wearing your ankles for earmuffs while Tyrone fills up the bottom half of your card, if you catch my drift.
Enjoy that, dears.
Jason Cobb sez: "I'd totally rather subscribe to this blog's feed than play Yahtzee."