Dear Secretary of Homeland Defense,
Uhh, hi. I wouldn’t ordinarily write to you, seeing as how you’re so busy protecting the homeland and all and I’m just a prematurely out of work used car salesman just getting by on a pension and piece work my wife does to keep busy since the children have grown up enough to be able to look after themselves, but these are troubling times and I have one or two questions about what is expected of me as a citizen and just generally what all is going on. You know, here at home.
Let me tell you the sort of thing I mean. The government tells us we’re supposed to be on the lookout for suspicious behaviour, right, but it doesn’t tell us what that is. Kids in my neighbourhood’re walking around with their asses hanging out of their pants – that’s pretty damn suspicious to me! And, all the jewelry they wear – where did they get the money for that, eh? Eh? Is that the sort of thing you mean – suspicious behaviour?
Or, how about: don’t panic – go shopping? I didn’t need the government to tell me that – I do it all the time. If it helps save the country from terrorists, even better. What the government doesn’t tell me is how I’m supposed to be paying for my patriotism. I mean, the bank is sending me angry letters telling me I will be in big trouble if I don’t start paying off my credit cards and bringing my balance close to something approaching zero. I’ve tried explaining to them that if they don’t let me continue to buy expensive consumer goods, the terrorists will have won, but, so far, they seem indifferent to this argument.
Do you have some sort of form letter you can send me that would help me out, here? Maybe something on Homeland Defense stationery? It doesn’t have to be signed by you personally – although that would be the most impressive thing – anybody reasonably high up in the Homeland Defense hierarchy should do the trick. Soon? Please?
In fact, let me ask the Washington brain trust something: the wife’s been getting a little…frisky in bed lately. Know what I mean? Don’t get me wrong, I love Enid, and all, but, well, I’m just not used to this behaviour. Should I be worried? I heard of the change, but I didn’t think it affected women like this! (And, anyway, what if I’m not ready to change? Nobody ever talks about that! Not that anybody ever talks about the change much, anyway – are you beginning to see why I need your help, here?)
And, I haven’t even mentioned Sid and Nancy! Those two are a handful! All Sid wants to do is sit in his room and play Duke Nukem all day, while Nancy – our little Nancy! – is bringing home men twice her age! She always was a precocious child, but her mother – Enid – and I can’t help but feel that this somehow crosses a line that shouldn’t be crossed. Are we just being old-fashioned, or is Nancy crossing bad lines here?
Oh, I know, we weren’t perfect children, either. I can remember one time in the back of a 57 Chevy – hee hee – my back was sore for a month! But – ahem – those were different times, more innocent times, and kids today are just plain different than when we were growing up. In fact, the world is different. I mean, people are buying their used cars on something called eBay now (I gather it’s on the Internet); how can they kick the tires and go for a test drive on the Internet? Meanwhile, honest Joes who have devoted their lives to serving people are left out in the cold, sitting at home, wondering about what’s so interesting about Duke Nukem and watching the world go by. It gets so that an honest man cannot –
Hey! Come to think of it, there is somebody who’s been acting might suspicious lately – my neighbour Vern. He’s been saying that he couldn’t understand how a politician who come into office claiming to be for small government could build such a huge bureaucracy for the purpose of telling people how to live. “Intrusive,” he calls it. Is that the sort of suspicious behaviour I’m supposed to be reporting to you? Because, you know, if it is, I’d be happy to give you his home address and phone number.
Yours,
Eugene Bellknap,
retired used car salesman, father, patriot