Free Gas

Someone has to do something. Gas costs more than bottled water. No more cheap rides in Big-O-Mobiles. Even worse, maybe no rides at all.

Americans don’t ride in hi-mile, put-put-cycles or tin-can cars. They need elbow room. They need butt room. On a big steel chassis. That’s what America is about. Freedom to ride away from any problem, no matter how big.

I am afraid I see 200 million cars sitting dead in the driveway. Is this the America that our heroes, Chevy, Ford and General Motors, built? We need big thinkers to get past this mess-up. We need oil. So let’s do something and get some oil--NOW.

We tried the friendly route. How many kisses did Bush smack on Mr. Saudi’s cheeks last month anyway. It was a bunch and he didn’t even get a gas burp back.

We tried the bad-ass route and invaded a place with oil for 100 billion summer vacations to the Ozarks. But that got screwed up and now, besides not having any oil, we are spending enough on the war to fill up the Prez’s 747 for a long flight to Mars.

Everyone said just borrow, borrow. I got a credit card in the mail every day. And Uncle Sam had the biggest credit card of all. Everyone rich wanted a piece of him. Big-Bank here and Rich-Guy there. They all fed his habit. And Uncle taught us to live like him. So now we have to pay. Pay bunches of bucks for oil. And then try to sell our SUV’s as storage sheds and cheap homes for the broke.

England had this problem. They spent it all and couldn’t afford even a used tank back in ‘41. But that was fighting Mr. Hitler. Then, after the war, with all their borrowed bucks those Brits tried to repossess the world. Owing everything to everyone and just hoping they could bluff their way saying “Mission Accomplished.” That’s what they tried and now they are just a piddly-wet island. We don’t want that.

We got into hock buying TV sets, snappy shoes and oil. We are maxed out. We need to call one of those credit counselors I see on TV. I know what they will say: Hey, why are you so in debt when you got so much in the bank, the land bank that is! You got more square miles than you need and you are borrowing bucks. Just sell off some of that dirt and you can be free of debt and buy all the gas you want. Maybe even get a new four-wheeler.

There is one thing you can’t buy more of right now and that is land. And we got a bunch. The world is filled up and you can’t get any new half-full countries anymore. We should score enough money to buy us a gajillion oil wells and save the Hummer and Escalade from extinction. Or maybe we just do a trade. 50000 square miles of God’s own earth in trade for 100 years of oil. Free. What a deal.

O.K., the problem is--what goes?

It’s like GM selling their big skyscraper in Detroit. They didn’t need it. They needed factories in China. We need to think like GM. Sell something big.

I say--sell Florida. It has lots of water around it and what do those guys with oil need: water. Nice wet, jungly beaches. A nice place to take a break from hot dry sand dunes in the desert. And for the Floridians, what does Florida have that you can’t get in Belize or Thailand or Cancun anyway, where it’s a lot cheaper.

Florida goes.

OK, I am holding back on you. Here’s the secret. Who cares if we sell Florida to keep our SUV’s alive. Florida will be underwater soon anyway if we use enough oil. Just don’t tell anyone or it may break the deal.

True Love

Something is happening.

Dogs are everywhere. Yap dogs lie in fat driver laps, big labs lick children like ice cream cones, fat-headed bull-toad terriers strut beside their fat-jowled owners and, worst of all, Chihuahuas in pink dog coats and, sometimes, little tutus tip-tip-tip across the living room of otherwise reasonable people.

The days of the free-range, doofus dog are over. Pluto doesn’t stumble into Mickey’s room and tangle in the electric cord any more. Goofy doesn’t yee-haw like an off-the-farm yokel. Dogs are the new fluffy handbag, the complement to strappy heels, the companion to a big guy’s bad-ass belt buckle. Accessories are everywhere and they breath and bark, or at least yip-yip-yip.

What happened? We are urbans. We don’t range the woods with shotguns and covered wagons any more. We don’t need a dog to fight off coyotes and rattlesnakes. We don’t need a ratty, burr-covered, mangy outdoors assistant. But we do need to look good as we walk down the hot city streets and, most important, bright-lit mall hangouts for teens and other layabouts. What could be better than a sharp-looking dog to highlight your new pink hair or that nasty tattoo!

But why dogs? They need care. They are messy. They chew expensive shoes and sofas. They plop droppings everywhere that we dutifully bag as we never would for humans. Dogs are kind of stupid—OK, they are stupid. And you are stuck with the same dog-look for a long time. You can’t get a new model each season without dealing with big disposal problems. The business opportunity looks like Rent-a-Dog, but people don’t change dogs. They love their dogs forever and I know why. Their dogs love them. Pure sloppy, undeserved, unconditional, lip-kissing love. You know your dog would die for you. Your dog lives for you to come home. Your dog wants to be part of you. True love.

We want an accessory that loves. That’s it. Love-doggies are what's happening.

This makes me wonder. Why can’t everything love me, not just my clothing accessories. I want my car to at least like me, to be happy when I sit in it, to feel the glee when I go fast around those hairpin turns. To hug me hard when I have to leave her in a parking lot and fly away for the week.

Or why not my house? It just sits there now and doesn’t say a word. It isn’t happy when I come home. I don’t want house slobber on me, but a smile would be nice.

The good news is love-stuff is just around the corner. I am calling on those genetic engineers to work hard on this one. A couple million neurons is all it takes. And there is lots of room in the attic or glove compartment for lots of love in all my stuff.

Some people say we don’t care about people anymore because we get our love from our pets. That’s hogwash. I love people. They just don’t love me as much as my new TV that knows my channels and plays them for me whenever I want. Or my new bed that has my number. Love stuff is the future. Get ready.