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Liberal Utopia

What your world would be if everything liberals wanted, they got. Open the door at the bottom of its Elysium fa├žade and take a glimpse of hell.

Unimaginative Waffling

 

First in a series of not so creative things you can do with your waffles. (Please do try this at home.)


A
s a wee Ch-ch-children™, one of my first discoveries was how much fun it is to fling things. Toys, leaves, small pebbles, kittens, you name it. Anything unfortunate enough to find its way into my clutches was twice, often three times more fun if it was flung.

Now I never once got around to flinging any waffles; and for this I feel my childhood was somehow robbed the full package of fun it could have had. Nevertheless, although being wrongfully deprived this activity may give the impression that it was less than completely fulfilling, I don't blame my parents for their stubborn refusal to keep a constant stockpile of waffles in our refrigerator. Looking back I realize they must have harbored a deep-seated prejudice against them over pancakes. Nor do I blame society or the government either, since it wasn't their job to establish anything like a Bureau of Waffles for making sure that every child in America always had a readily flingable supply close by. Had I been born into some rich family in Colorado, or liked putting qetchup on my waffles instead of syrup, I might have had a lot more than I did. Not being able to eat all of them I might have thought: "These extra waffles on my plate will just go to waste if I don't eat them all. But I can't because I'm stuffed and already have much more than my tummy could ever hold. So instead of just tossing them in the garbage (which doesn't sound like much fun at all) why not see if these babies will put my $1,000 gold-leafed, ruby-enameled, diamond-encrusted Frisbee® to shame?" And thus the fun idea of tossing around waffles could've been discovered right then and there.

But it's never too late to capture fun.

One politician who bythewayservedinVietNam likes to fling things too because, after all, it's a very fun thing to do. However, in his case it wasn't just waffles, but these strange medals that are shaped like ribbons and, coincidentally enough, weird-shaped ribbons that look a whole lot like medals. Plus his system of flinging has a distinct advantage: You don't even have to really own the things you're flinging. As if there really were a U.S. Department of Flingable Waffles, Ribbons, and Medals handing out free things to each and every American for them to fling. Like an entitlement of sorts.

So do your government and your fellow citizens a real favor. Whenever your have a stack of waffles on your plate which you simply can't eat, don't throw them in the trash where they can be taken away to clog up our landfills. Do the right and patriotic thing. Give them all a good toss. Not only is it fun, but it'll help save the environment.

Speaking of flingable things (my apologies to John Masefield):

Poll Fever


I must go down in the polls again, in the Newsweek poll cited by K. Rover,
And all I ask is a handful of waffles and a fence to fling them over,
And the flip's flop and the flop's flip and the policy stances' stinking,
And a new shot for this long face, and a new hope sinking.

I must go down in the polls again, where my call for a running mate
Is the first call on the Do-Not-Call lists of "friends" who sense my fate;
And all I ask is one floppy disc when all my "plans" need storing,
And the French vote and Kim Jong Il's too and leave the independents snoring.

I must go down in the polls again, in spite of how much I've lied,
In an election loss I see looming closer toward a 50-state landslide;
And all I ask is a family SUV with neither ding nor dint on,
And long restful drives someplace far away after I'm replaced by H.R. Qlinton.

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