I am America (and so can You!) Page 3

  Mojitos are not a shared value!

  These are not valid reasons for divorce:

  Didn’t realize you had to be monogamous.

  Time period covered by pre-nup expired.

  Your married name is something like “Anita Hardcock.”

  Girl you had a crush on in high school just got divorced.

  PROBLEM IS: More and more young Americans are reaching their prime child-bearing years and making statements like, “Oh, I don’t believe in marriage. My parents’ divorce was so terrible that I don’t want to go through the same thing.” The next thing you know, they’re either single parents or just single—a drain on society either way.

  Our bad example is ruining marriage for our children. That is why, for their sake, all American couples must at least fake happiness until their children are married. If it will help you through your misery, think of yourselves as magicians, performing a deftly crafted illusion for more than 20 years.

  David Blaine would jump at the opportunity.

  One way or another, you’ve got to work things out. Do not get a divorce. It’s bad for society, it’s in direct opposition to God’s will, and it makes it hard to know what people’s last names are.11

  So walk it off. Work it out. 30-day return policy, and then no exchanges. America has a thriving marital counseling industry for just this reason.

  COLBERT FAMILY COUNSELING

  No family is without problems, and there’s no shame in acknowledging it by shaking your finger at your family members and screaming about how they’ve failed you. I have found that one of my many unexpected talents lies in the area of family counseling; I can sit down with just about any family and, without knowing a thing about them, give them hours of solid advice. The relief on their faces at the end of our “session” is all the reward I ask.

  Now it’s your turn. Since I can’t meet face to face with everyone who buys this book (unless the sales projections are drastically off), I’d like to offer my services in the form of this all-purpose counseling session for a family of four. Just circle the choices that apply, and I think you’ll find that these are words to live by.12

  (Note: By reading these words you acknowledge that Stephen T. Colbert bears no legal responsibility for the consequences of living by them.)

  Happy healing!

  Welcome, Mom, Dad, Evan and Kimberly. I’m very encouraged by the fact that you (sought/were ordered into) family counseling, and I think together we can make a lot of progress. I’ve studied your family dynamic and I’d like to address each of you in turn.

  Dad, it’s quite obvious to me that you need to (spend more time at home/get a job), in order to relieve the enormous strain put on the family by your constant (absence/presence). If you were (more/less) involved in family life, (Evan/ Kimberly/Mom) might feel some relief from the pressure that drives (his/her) struggle with (authority/drugs/pimples/cooking sherry). By the same token, your (increased/decreased) presence might also allow (Evan/Kimberly/Mom) the perspective to decide whether (he/she) is (considering/rejecting) a career in (sports/medicine/sports medicine/law/jazz dance) because (he/she) really wants to, or in order to (please/infuriate) you. To put it simply, they need you to be at (work/home). It’s time to take another look at your (priorities/résumé) and put yourself (out there/back here).

  Now you, Mom. You must accept the fact that your decision to (quit/go back to) (work/school/drinking/Jenny Craig/your meds), while obviously a personal step (forward/backward) for you, also has consequences for the family. Remember, emotionally you have always been their (pillar of strength/ powder keg), and the idea that your life choices will now be made with an eye toward (your career/family life/logic) can take some getting used to. Don’t forget, you’re at a crossroads yourself, with the children getting (older/fatter) and soon to be off to (college/rehab/war/Quiznos). They may not tell you, but they (still/no longer) need you to (loosen/tighten/trim) the (apron strings/reins/ hedges). Let them know that you’re (still/not) their (mom/maid/warden/camel drover), and I think you’ll find them more than willing to (meet you halfway/ move out).

  Evan, I know that (making/not making) the (football team/debate club/dance troupe) has you feeling a lot of pressure. But no problem was ever really solved by (drugs/drinking/Santeria). And (lashing out at/ignoring/massaging) your (parents/sister/teammates/priest) isn’t the answer either. Maybe it will help if you think of the family as a (race car/video game/robot arm). All the parts have to work together if you’re going to (win/win/carefully manipulate the space shuttle’s bay doors closed). And as far as the problem you’ve been having with your (grades/chronic masturbation), I truly believe that the simple answer is just a little (more/less) time spent (studying/working your crank).

  Now you, Kimberly. I’ll be blunt: You need to (gain/lose) weight. Your body image issues are only masking a deeper (anxiety/indifference/rage) that is the same impulse behind your (attaching/detaching) yourself (from/to) the school’s (in/out/geek/Goth/nerd/jock/preppie/hippie/stoner/loner/Christer) crowd. Can we address the possibility that your (binging/purging/cutting/ piercing/tattooing/promiscuity/meth use) is just your way of asking for your family’s (love/attention/destruction)? When left to your own devices you can be a very (kind/manipulative/frightening) young lady, and you shouldn’t leave it to others to (validate/expose) your (worth/crimes against humanity). The (possibilities/sentences) for (young people/juvenile offenders) are (greater/ harsher) than ever before. (Embrace/Avoid) them.

  All right. I’m (glad/sorry) to say this has been a (very/fairly) (productive/disappointing) session, but I am aware of the (time/smoldering trash fire Evan lit), so I’ll see you next week.

  * * *

  STEPHEN SPEAKS FOR ME

  A CHANCE FOR AVERAGE AMERICANS TO AGREE WITH WHAT I THINK

  Dolores Grierson, Old Maid

  I shan’t say I have never felt the thrilling touch of an amorous embrace, but I also shan’t shan’t say it, for I was raised in a refined era when ladies did not amorously-embrace-and-tell. (For the record: It was vigorous necking that once descended to the upper shoulder!)

  Oh, I have loved.

  Every fortnight, I water the shriveled bouquet of roses given to me at the debutante ball by my suitor, Horace O’Conner, the man I hoped to marry. But I was too spirited and willful and I spurned his proposal. I wanted to wait until I was seventeen.

  But I mustn’t linger on memories of Horace! After he moved away, I vowed that I would find a purpose for my life other than marriage and family.

  My search was as fruitless as my womb.

  On the bright side, if I had raised a family, who would have raised my cats, my wonderful, wonderful cats? What would have become of Tiger, and Cupcake, and Professor Snugglepuss? Who would put out milk for Princess Sheba, and Dartagnan the Mouseketeer? Who would knit personalized collars for Footloose, Fancy-Free, Mr. Whiskers and Mrs. Chievous-Whiskers (nee Miss Chievous), Ol’ Blacky, Princess Grace Kitty, Queen Neferkiti, Old King Cat, Arsenic, Old Lace, and Adjunct Professor Mimsy?

  Yes, I’ve had a full life. Let me show you a page from my diary.

  6:30 am: Overslept. Queen Neferkiti is not pleased.

  6:45 am: Prepared breakfast of poached eggs, jam and toast, and fried sausages.

  6:53 am: Prepare my breakfast.

  7:00 am: Ate my bowl of Wheatena.

  7:30 to Noon: Wrote and mailed letters to relatives, most of whom are all deceased.

  Over the next few weeks, the letters will trickle back stamped “return to sender.”

  It’s so nice to get mail!

  Noon to 12:30: Stared.

  12:30 to 1:45: Embroidered a slip for my pillow—singular.

  2:00: A visit from the postman! The fall issue of Cat Fancy is here!

  2:15 to 7:00: Fancied my cats in accordance with latest cat-fancying trends.

  7:30: The neighborhood children threw rocks at “Fearsome Grierson’s” door. I wanted to shout at them, “That doesn’t even rhyme!” but ins
tead, I watched silently from behind the shutters. They will get theirs…

  7:40:…And How!

  8:00 to 9:00 pm: Updated will. Professor Snugglepuss is in for a wonderful surprise.

  The other cats will have to understand.

  9:00 pm: Lights out! Good night, my feline companions!

  Midnight:…Goodnight, Horace.

  * * *

  * * *

  OPTICAL ILLUSION

  Look at your brunette wife for a very, very, very long time. Then shift your gaze over your fence to the neighbor’s backyard. Do you see a hot, young blonde? I recommend you don’t!

  * * *

  fig 4. STEPHEN COLBERT

  CHAPTER 2

  OLD PEOPLE

  “Hope I die before I get old.”

  –Pete Townshend, living old person

  NEWS FLASH: DID YOU NOTICE HOW BIG THE WORD “NEWS” WAS AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS PARAGRAPH? I CONSIDERED MAKING ALL THE WORDS IN THIS CHAPTER THAT BIG. AND NOT JUST BECAUSE I CAN’T THINK OF A QUICKER WAY TO FILL 240 PAGES. THAT WAS A JOKE, IN CASE YOU

  couldn’t tell. I don’t blame you if you couldn’t. Can’t tell if someone’s making a joke if you can’t see that person’s face. Big reason I don’t like books. No faces. Can’t tell when they’re being funny.

  Being Funny

  Point is, I’m writing about seniors here, and old folks can’t read anything that’s not printed in a 30-point font or above. To them, this paragraph looks like an ant fight. Sad thing is, if they try to use a magnifying glass, the page catches on fire. I’ve always thought someone should fix that about magnifying glasses. Major design flaw.

  Why not call it a “magna-frying glass?”

  Anyway, even though seniors can’t make out most of the words in this book, I thank them for reading it.

  Thank you for reading this, seniors.

  If seniors could read this, I would thank them here, too.

  I must say, writing a whole chapter directed at seniors is a waste of time. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks—they’re too tired. Plus, they’re from the library card generation. They share books. They don’t believe in buying multiple collectors’ copies, no matter what kind of rare, bizarre misprint appears in the first edition . No disrespect, but old people are useless to me. So, this chapter is now re-directed at all of you not-yet-seniors.

  Plus: Since seniors can’t read this, I can say whatever I want about them.

  They look like lizards.

  See? No angry letters. By now, some of the older readers out there are probably thinking, “What’s that Colbert boy going on about?” Let’s not forget about them.

  It is the duty of all Americans to respect and cherish our elders.

  * * *

  GUT SPEAKING: “An old man is a repository of failed ideas.”

  —Johann Goethe, a German writer

  * * *

  I made this quote up.

  SOME GOOD THINGS ABOUT SENIORS

  They are the Greatest Generation. No other generation in history has ever been quite so willing to be poor, fight wars, or have babies.

  They were alive in the Good Old Days. They’re living testament to a time when America was #1, and so was butterscotch.

  My Mom is one of them. If you have a problem with old folks, you have a problem with my Mom. So let me ask you, punk, do you have a problem with my Mom? ’Cause I’d love hear about it!

  They are often forgiven for racial intolerance.

  I love you, Mom.

  NOW THE BAD NEWS: After criminals and babies, seniors are the most coddled segment of the population. They have everything given to them, from pensions to discount meals to help crossing the street. And despite all they get, they complain.

  NEWS FLASH: It’s not seniors’ fault that they’re such whiners. There’s someone else to blame: Franklin D. Roosevelt, who gave our country Social Security, a system which rewards seniors for doing nothing.

  Sorry, but retirement offends me. You don’t just stop fighting in the middle of a war because your legs hurt. So why do you get to stop working in the middle of your life just because your prostate hurts? That’s desertion, which in my book gets you the early bird special at the firing squad buffet.

  Our elders are a precious resource.

  LIKE I SAID: Ever since I was a kid I’ve been baffled by retirement, pensions, and S.S. Want proof? Look what I found in the Colbert attic archives. Couldn’t have been more than seven when I wrote it:

  POINT IS: S.S. didn’t make sense to me as a seven-year-old, and it doesn’t make sense to me now.

  SS—why do those initials sound familiar?

  Think of it this way: If an alien came down from the Galaxy and told you that on his planet they have a system where all the young, hardworking aliens give up a large number of their glixnards for the benefit of the non-working elder vorzoths, and that by the time they were ready to become vorzoths themselves (a process involving the ingestion of a sacred mineral which renders the forelimbs useless for work in the plthkana mines), the glixnard cisterns might be dangerously depleted, you bet your sweet bippy you’d have a lot of questions. And yet, our human American “vorzoths” (seniors) have banded together to preserve their hoard of “glixnards” (money) at the expense of the young. They call this group the “AARP,” which probably stands for something, but to me, sounds like the noise an old man makes when he’s trying to get out of a bean bag chair.

  SO WHAT DO WE DO ABOUT THESE YEAR-HOGGERS?

  Is there a solution to America’s Elderly Crisis that doesn’t involve changing our lives in any way or making us feel guilty? Yes. Think of the money in the Social Security “Trust Fund” as investment capital. Right now, we’re putting that money into millions of small-cap, zero-yield investments: The Jazzy® Set. No offense, but unless Leo and Dolores Shipner of Forest Hills suddenly decide to get off their apple pancake asses and personally invade Iran, we’re not getting value for our money. We need to utilize seniors’ strengths to get a return on our investment.

  Shipners successfully invaded Olive Garden.

  Are you still awake?

  Prove me wrong, Pulitzers!

  I’m not going to win any awards for saying this, but the elderly are like rude party guests. They came early, they’re always in the bathroom, and now they just won’t leave. I say we do the same thing to them that I do with stragglers at my shin-digs. Put them to work cleaning the place up.

  Only this time, the place is called America.

  Ring a bell?

  Let’s use ’em to shut down our porous Southern Border. One thing Old People have a knack for is keeping kids off their lawn. I remember growing up, old man Schmidt would sit in that rocking chair of his like he was manning a guard tower at a Nazi prison camp. One misstep onto his immaculate “Master Lawn” was enough to trigger the old man’s shriek of “Auf Meine Grass! Das ist Verboten!” I say, let’s build a 2000-mile-long front porch along our border with Mexico and line it with the angry aged. When the Mexicans try to cross, they’ll be turned into Mexi can’ts™ when a million Grampas bellow:

  Guardpas?

  “Get off my country! I just seeded!”

  Plus, they’re suckers for heat.

  Hey! Anybody want a free trip to California, Arizona, New Mexico, and/or Texas?

  Are they up to the job? Make no bones about it, old people are tough. Many of them grew up having to scrap for every penny. They made shoes out of newspaper and twine, and subsisted on a thin stew of newspaper and twine. Sometimes they had to go without shoes and stew altogether so that there would be enough newspaper and twine to treat the baby’s Scarlet Fever. I’d say they can handle Jose.