Todd Stadler's blog

Toilet trauma

Have you ever had one of those moments when you really, really have to pee, and you run into the bathroom, your mind rushing furiously to assess the situation before the "dam" "bursts" (let the reader understand)?

You know, one of those moments where, as the bathroom door slams open, with the urine clock ticking down, your mind runs through a little mental checklist ("Light on? Check. Reasonable proximity to toilet? Check. Belt uncinched? Check. Zipper down? Check. Check, check, check, already!") and, thus satisfied, cries out, "Let slip the dogs of micturition!" when, just at the last, unfortunate second, it realizes much to your horror, that you forgot to check if the toilet seat is up — and it's not?! And as the amber cascades all over the floor, you shake your fist at the ceiling and bellow, "What expurgation hath wrought!" ... you know, one of those moments?

Yeah, that's never happened to me, either.

But I think we should make fun of people it has happened to. Because hey, what's their problem? And why do they talk like that? Seriously!

The tomato

I bet all the edible plants hate the tomato. Think about it.

I mean, the tomato has totally sold out. And I'm not even talking about how it traitorously turned its back on all its fruit brothers. "Screw you guys, I don't care if I am the ripened ovary of a flowering plant — I'm not waiting around in a bowl to be painted by some hack! Off to the exciting world of vegetables for me! See you at breakfast sometime, okay?" And so on.

I'm talking about how the tomato wants it all, whoring itself to get into every meal. Lunch time? "I'm great on a sandwich!" Dinner? "You practically can't make a salad without me, and I'm a key component of many soups and dishes!" Yes, even breakfast: "Equally tasty in an omelette as with, say, some cream cheese and a bagel!"

I mean, give it a freakin' rest, Tomato Tom! Let the other veggies — of whom you are not one — have some plate-time, okay?

Sometimes, the tomato even suggests itself as a snack — "Try a garden-fresh one of me with salt on top! Mmmm!" — but, forgive me, that's too much.

But it's not just the "Me! Me! Me!" stuff that makes the tomato so annoying. It's how it tries to have it both ways in the health department.

I mean, consider the potato. Sure, it long ago said goodbye to the veggie world and joined ranks with the meats and cheeses of the world, but at least it's up-front about it: "I often appear on plates where I am the only 'vegetable', smothered in tasty fats and next to giant hunks of meat, but hey, it's a job."

You don't see potatoes galavanting about in salads, right? Fine, there's potato "salad", but nobody's fooled by that. It's just our friend the potato, doing his usual schtick, and isn't that nice.

But tomatoes just have to be everywhere, whether you're eating something guaranteed to give you a heart attack, like a McDonald's Big N' Nasty® ... er, Tasty®, or something very healthy, like a McDonald's Bacon Ranch Salad. I mean, give me a break!

If the tomato had its way, we'd all be sucking down Tomato Coke® right now. And as Patrick Henry might have said, "I will brook no Tomato Coke®. Like, ew."

Anyhow, that's what I'm sayin'. Tomatoes, right? Straight up!

The problem with America

So. I think I have figured out what's wrong with America.

A lot of people think Americans are selfish and egotistical. Of course, a lot of those people are just jealous wussies, but that's their problem.

Still, the fact remains that there might be a problem with America. And the question therefore is: what is to be done about this problem?

Now I'm going to shift gears for a second, but just see me out here, because I will, in fact, blow your mind when I'm done.

You know how people say, "There is no 'I' in 'team'" and act like they're so smart because they know how to spell? Well, even if those people are pretty full of themselves, they still have a point: spelling is important, and teams should have more than one person on them.

Also, it helps to cooperate. Especially with other people.

And here's where I tie it all together: there is an "I" in "America". I don't mean myself. I mean, sure, I'm in America, but that's not my point.

The letter "I" does occur in the word "America". And that's a problem. Because when someone tells you Americans are selfish individuals, you'll want to say, "Listen here, El Señor Komrade, there is no 'I' in Ameri..." And then you'll pause for a second — just long for him to terrorize you or something. And then the non-Americans will have won.

But hang on — there's more! Not only is there an "I" in "America", there's also a "me"! (Again, not referring to myself.) Look closely: A-me-r-I-ca. It's there!

Who freakin' named this country? Well, the answer to that question may surprise you. It turns out it was one of them — again, I speak of non-Americans. Most notably of the Italian kind. (There are two I's in "Italian", by the way.)

Yes, my friends, it turns out that America was named by an Italian named — get this — Amerigo Vespucci.

"Hey," you might think, "That first name seems sort of familiar!" Well, it ought to, because it's the name of the best country in the world! (Yeah, you heard me, Chad! Stuff it, Luxembourg! I'm talking to you too, Laos!)

It turns out this so-called Amerigo fellow got a little cocky and decided to name some of the sweetest real estate ever known to mankind after himself. But he apparently changed the name a bit so that no one would follow his tracks. Well, my amigo, consider yourself busted.

And he didn't just name our country after himself — check out this guy's ego! — he named two whole freakin' continents after himself! That's right, he bemonikerred the landmasses known as North of the United States of America and South of the United States of America, or North America and South America for short.

But enough of the history lesson already, right?

Anyhow, here's my point: we should rename our country, just so the Italians (again, notice the inherently egotistical spelling of their nationality, right?) don't come over here one day and say, "This is ours. We named it. Give it."

And what better way to celebrate Americans' inherent all-for-one nature by calling our country Awerusa? I mean, sure, we already have the abbreviation USA, which should tell the foreign would-be selfishness-accusers to step off, but I think Awerusa really drives the point home.

We wouldn't have to emphasize "we" and "us" every time we spelled it, but it would help the slower countries figure it out (yes, I am looking at you, Belgium).

So how about it, Awerusa? Who's with me? (By the way, if you're not with me, you're against me, and might as well move to, like, Guam or whatever.)

Sweet.

Bumper stickers: a rebuttal

I know I have a hang-up about bumper stickers, but so it goes.

The other day I saw a bumper sticker, riffing off the always inspirational "D.A.R.E. to resist drugs and whatnot" workhorse. It said "D.A.R.E. to think for yourself".

I'd like to imagine somebody, perhaps a timid, balding fellow, viewing that bumper sticker, firmly stomping his foot down, and saying, "That bumper sticker is right! From this day forward, I will think for myself! ... Unless, that is, some different bumper sticker tells me not to."

It's a simple irony, to be sure, but nonetheless one that seems to have been missed by the people who purchase such bumper stickers and display them (in an apparently stick-it-to-The-Man fashion) for all to see.

And now, a short play about a slightly different bumper sticker:

John: Rawr! Authority sucks! I hate authority! I reject it!

Joan: John, what's wrong with you? You used to be so by-the-book! Why, you used to revere authority!

John: Well, I was in a novelty store and I saw this bumper sticker that told me to "question authority", and I listened to what that bumper sticker had to say. In fact, I bought it and have affixed it to my car here. No more will I allow anyone or anything to tell me what to think!

Joan: [Hastily scribbles the word "Don't" at the beginning of the bumper sticker]

John: Sigh. My mutiny has passed.

See, clever bumper stickers? That's what I think of you — you are nothing compared to my clever fake-and-oddly-short-play-writing skills!

Although I will grant bumper stickers the upper hand on this one thing: more people will see them than will read this entry. Sigh. My mutiny has passed.