Why America Is Going Down the Tubes

Pictured above is the symbol of all that is wrong with American society in the Nineties. As you can see, this is a Sport Utility Vehicle, which I downloaded directly from the manufacturer's web site. It comes in Safety White and is pictured barreling through the red mud flats of New Mexico or California or some other uninhabitable desert territory. This is not unlike other SUV advertisements that show a certain Australian movie star driving through his homeland in one of their vehicles or the one picturing an obviously Baby Boom generation Yuppie scum type (as opposed to the GenX Yuppie scum type like myself) who is magically transformed into Mountain Man simply by transfixing his gaze upon the mystical, all-powerful SUV. These ad campaigns, like anything targeted toward those sheep born between 1946 and 1964, induce a vomitous sensation in my upper GI system.

Right now you're probably thinking I'm just jealous or that I've never experienced the pleasure of driving or riding in one of these vehicles. If you are, you are wrong. I don't want one and doubt I ever will. I will admit they are fun to ride in. However, let's get a grip on this, folks. Have you ever driven a convertible? They are much more fun to drive, and they get more than eight miles to the gallon, too. So we have ruled out the fun factor.

So why are these vehicles so popular? Let us look for a moment at life as it was in eighth grade. Remember that wonderful year that combined all the bewilderment of childhood with all the angst of adolescence? And everyone just had to have a unicorn purse? SUVs are unicorn purses for grown-ups. They are not the nicest products available on the market, they are rather cheaply made, and there are things on the market that hold a lot more cargo. But everyone else has one so they must be good.

I suppose I could tolerate these evil spawn from Detroit (or Toledo or Flint or wherever they are made) if they were not available in Safety White. Why would anyone need a Safety White Sport Utility Vehicle? If you use them as pictured above, you will be visiting the car wash about five times a day to keep your SUV glistening and in its pristine state. If you use them for their original intended purpose (on safari in the grasslands of Africa), you will be eaten by hungry lions spotting their prey from hundreds of miles away in their Safety White serving trays. Perhaps the manufacturer should offer a free safari in Africa for everyone who buys a Safety White SUV. At least they would not have to worry about return airfare, and it would cut down greatly on the burden retiring Baby Boomers will place on the Social Security system. The only thing a Safety White SUV is good for is taking the kids to soccer practice. And a caravan or station wagon would work better for that, too.

Everyone loves to make fun of Martha Stewart these days. After all, she's a pushy control freak who's finally "getting hers". She will soon be applying her talents toward making festive curtains for her cell in prison and delightful paper chains to festoon the bars on her cell. And her empire has indeed gone bust.

But, you see, I was the trendsetter. I wrote the diatribe below several years ago, before the Enron scandals that brought all her questionable financial dealings to light.

(And by the way, has anyone else noticed she has traded in her pale blue oxford shirts for crisp white ones? Maybe a fear of the light blue oxford shirts adorned by prisoners, perchance?)

This woman goes through life like she has a lemon spice tart shoved up her... um... armpit. Whether she is endorsing her line of bed linens from K-Mart or putting the same on a pile of cinderblocks for a festive improvisational dinner party for 800, her curt, crisp accent suggests the following to me:

She is from New Jersey (they don't really talk like people from the Bronx in spite of what they say on TV).
She is hiding something from her past (there is a delightful summer read available -- e-mail me if you'd like to know more).
Her short fuse makes her an ideal candidate for employment with our fine postal system if her empire ever goes bust.

Anyone who says her favorite TV show was Father Knows Best shows signs of deep emotional disturbance. She doesn't strike me as a hostess who would make one feel comfortable if one were to visit her house. In fact, she strikes me as the kind of hostess who would bite one's head off if one spilled a drink on those K-Mart sheets used to cover her cinderblocks and the kind of hostess who would put everyone under twelve into a room where the floor was covered with butcher paper to prevent unsightly spills and accidents.

Incidentally, I think Martha Stewart drives a Sport Utility Vehicle.

I think the picture speaks for itself. I had the misfortune of viewing an episode of this smutty filth one bored Saturday afternoon and am convinced this smutty show has no business being on daytime television where innocent children can accidentally watch it.

Don't get me wrong: I am no advocate of censorship. However, I think this show oversteps its value as entertainment and is nothing but prurient Sapphic filth and as such belongs with other shows of its ilk on ShowTime or Cinemax late at night.

Not only does the show border on obscene, but its message is dumb, too. The characters are a bunch of happy women all living in harmony who perform chiropractic on each other and tell each other how much they love each other as they get crucified all the time. It reminds me of some of the literature I've read about feminist communes in the early 1970's, the kind of communes where all their idealism degenerated into fatness and a drug-induced stupor.

As a woman, I think I can speak with authority that my gender is a catty, self-interested lot. My buddies and I do not, in fact, sit around campfires telling each other how much we love each other. In fact, the mere thought of doing so is sickening to me.

I think the bluenoses of society would do America a great service by ridding us of this awful show. Boycott Xena today!