Inside November 16, 2004's Issue

Recycle Cartoon

Let the government be your daddy

The balloon, the bald dog and my peace of mind

People tell me I'm too pessimistic. I don't think so. Pessimism is defined as being extremely gloomy or expecting the worst.

Personally I prefer "realist," but labels are the last thing I'm concerned with these days.

I recently had the third of five reconstructive surgeries on my right knee. It was progress, but I got depressed anyway.

To combat my depression and assumed negativity, my mother purchased me a balloon. Not just any balloon, but a yellow smiley faced balloon, one of those fancy helium kinds that stay inflated for days.

I was lying in bed watching this balloon, spinning in harsh little circles, smiling at me. I named the balloon Spartacus, the Yellow Floating Balloon of Death and Protection. Other than Spartacus, the only company I had was my two pet black sea crabs, and, ironically, they killed each other.

It was while my depressed self was hanging out with Spartacus that I decided that the world was indeed coming to an end. I'm not concerned with the suggestively apocalyptic amount of hurricanes, typhoons and volcanic activity we've had lately. I'm sweating the small stuff.

I couldn't walk, and I was talking to a balloon. Superman is dead. The nation is under the assumption that secular persons lack morals and values. My dog has some mystery disease that caused it to go bald, and I'm still slightly paranoid that my psych professor is going to eat my soul.

Ladies, gentlemen and liberals, we are all going to hell in a handbasket.

Then the other day I watched the lunar eclipse with my father and my bald dog. I was playing with the exposure settings on my new digital camera and took a picture of the moon. Upon reviewing my photos, I found that in one instance due to trickery of light I had not an eclipsed moon but what appeared to be an illuminated phallic shape on my screen.

And suddenly, the world was a better place.

Sure, there is a lot to worry about these days. But it seems like nobody really wants to be happy anymore. No one wants their problems solved, because if their problems are solved, they will lose this essential part of themselves that they feel makes them unique.

So in a spirit much unlike the usual me, and in honor of the holidays, I say, "Don't worry. Be happy."

Fear not, fellow gripers. Over the upcoming holiday seasons we will still have plenty to complain about. The war will not stop. This is not Snoopy's Christmas Special; there will not be peace on Christmas Day and the Red Baron will still be all over our ass. Homeless people will still be sleeping on grates and naked starving babies will still be running around in Africa. My dog will still be bald.

But through all this, let us remember there will always be times when someone will give us a cool balloon, and there will always be times when something will resemble male genitalia and all you can do is smile.

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