Grrr! Celebrities Are Ruining Our Country...and Other Reasons Why We're All in Trouble

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An Open Letter to the Oblivion Council
TO: THE OBLIVION COUNCIL FROM: ASPIRING OBLIVION
To Whom It May Concern:




I am writing the council in the hopes of obtaining my Oblivion pin.
For years now I have played by society's written and unwritten rules. I limited my groceries to only ten items in the express checkout lane, and I even returned my cart to the cart corral in the parking lots of grocery stores everywhere.
But I noticed something missing in my life.
I noticed that there are Oblivions in the world who count forty cans of dog food as one item and still get through the express checkout lane. I noticed these Oblivions leaving their shopping carts wherever they please, allowing them to roll into the automobiles of hard-working Americans.
And I said to myself, "Self, wouldn't that be a great way to live? Wouldn't it be great to be so oblivious to everybody in the world that I only had to worry about myself?"
I could wave my arms indiscriminately with a lit cigarette inmy hand, oblivious to the people around me and their petty little arm burns. I can smoke my cigarette or my cigar in a crowded restaurant with complete abandon.
I could walk from blackjack table to blackjack table at Las Vegas casinos playing one hand at each. Heck, I can even split tens if I feel so inclined. It's my money, after all.
I could scream at my kid's soccer coach and the referees if my kid's not playing well, blame their teachers if they have bad grades, and point the finger at MTV when my daughter gets pregnant.
It all sounds like too much fun to pass up.
That's why I'm applying for my Oblivion pin. With it comes advantage. I won't leave home without it.
I now know that handicap parking and the fire lanes are spots reserved just for me. I understand that the lines at Starbucks or the Post Office are for poor schmucks who think that being kind to neighbors will actually get them ahead in life.
What a bunch of baloney.
You know, I like to stop short in the middle of busy sidewalks to use my cell phone. I like to speak loudly into my cell phone no matter where I am, and when I'm bored I like to call my friends, no matter what time of the day or night it is. And I love to change my ring tones frequently, especially during times when there is enough peace and quiet around me so I can really concentrate on choosing the right melody.
I noticed an Oblivion the other day who stepped in front of a long line at the Barnes and Noble bookstore just to "ask a quick question." She wanted to know if the book that she put on hold was behind the counter.
The clerk stopped what he was doing to search for the book. He asked the Oblivion under what name the book was held. The Oblivion gave her name, but alas, there was no book. "Ohwait," the Oblivion said. "I put it under my maiden name. See, I signed up on the Web site before I got married, so I always use my maiden name when I deal with Barnes and Noble. Could you check under Dumbich?"
Sure enough, the clerk found the book under Dumbich. He handed it over the counter.
That's when Ms. Dumbich, the Oblivion, uttered words that convinced me once and for all to apply for membership as an Oblivion.
"Well, since I'm up here," she said, "can you ring me up?" And he did. And aside from a few audible sighs on the line, nobody said a word. Out of the fifteen or so people whom she rudely cut in front of, not one said a single word in protest!
Ms. Dumbich was obviously sporting her pin.
Therefore, I humbly and with full conviction would like to apply for my Oblivion pin.
I promise to wear it with neglect and never even acknowledge the existence of any higher authority other than myself. I promise to behave like I wear blinders, and I promise to see only what is directly in front of me and only what applies to me.
I will not let the Oblivion Council down. Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely, I.M. Oblivious
Oblivion-in-Training
GRRR! CELEBRITIES ARE RUINING OUR COUNTRY ... AND OTHER REASONS WHY WE'RE ALL IN TROUBLE. Copyright © 2007 by Mike Straka. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.