Sometimes I forget why I love America. Sometimes I forget all that fancy freedom talk and democracy speak and just need to get to the roots of why I’m so darn proud of living here.
In my musings, I’ve found that all I really need to do is look at some of America’s achievers to remedy my dilemma: Howard Hughes, Walter Disney, and Sarah L. Winchester, for example. You see, in America, you needn’t be afraid of becoming a wealthy eccentric. Hire whomever you want to do whatever you want with whatever it is you’ve bottled. Your slippery grasp on reality is sure to place you among a long list of “innovative minds” whether or not your fortune was inherited.
What’s more, in America, the obsessive demands of today will become the tourist attractions of tomorrow; people will remember the inspirational story of the Spruce Goose, the elaborate and amusing architecture of the Winchester mystery house, and Disneyland. In America, you’ll simply be “ahead of your time.” You won’t hear about how your queen was crushed by a horse while trying to initiate intercourse with it. That’s not ahead of anyone’s time; that’s just weird.
No, in America, you can make out with clouds and have sex with rainbows. Or at least make that claim. So, feel free to indulge your paranoia for, as they say, there’s a fine line between genius and insanity and in America you get bonus points for trying to walk it.
That’s why every time I don’t quite remember what that special something is about the US of A, I just clothe myself in pancakes and narrate my actions in the third person. Then everything usually turns out all right. Mark finishes this piece by telling the readers to join him and his pre-approved doughnut friends for a Squelch meeting followed by a vigorous, disinfecting pumice scrub. Mark reminds you to forget that he is not wealthy. Mark will see you there.
