Dear Denizens of India…


Photo: ESA & NASA

22o00’ N Latitude, 77o00’ W Longitude


Dear Indians,


  Some of you, to put this as gently as I know how, are dumber than a box of chapattis.  If you really want to know where My ex-wife is, I would suggest either the Hermes store on Madison Ave. or her divorce lawyer’s waterbed.  It’s usually a toss-up.


  I almost blame Myself.  Not for your stupidity and/or ignorance – that’s down to genetics, culture and family income.  No, I almost – almost – blame Myself because I let My boys take art classes for a while.  Neither of them could competently draw a stick man, but I was still feeling a little guilty about the hippie one getting mounted like a butterfly specimen and I couldn’t very well let Him take lessons without including his brother, the Young Republican.  So I had this Leonardo fellow come in twice a week and it was a monumental waste of his time and My money.  Like most of Their interests, it didn’t last long, but as a result, the boys left a number of Their hideous creations lying around.  You know how it is with celebrity artwork; no matter how bad it is, somebody will want it.  As far as I can recall, however, We didn’t leave anything behind on Our one vacation to the Sun.


  Perhaps I should blame outsourcing.  Dumb Americans used to be the go-to group for bad artwork of My family.  Now pudding-headed Indians are filling the niche once occupied by the United States’ vast reserves of witless dolts.  If I weren’t on vacation I might be tempted to back John McCain after all.  When George is gone, who else would be more qualified to extend America’s recent legacy of knuckleheadedness and put a stop to the outsourcing of stupidity?


  Of course, it’s not as if I really care.  I’m on vacation.  Although I’m no eyeballologist, I will give you a little free advice:  Don’t stare at the sun.


Wish You Were Here,





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