The hamster-led, pumpkin spiced revolution
Fall is a wonderful season. That nearly dead, but not yet!— feeling of: warm days and cool nights, beautiful tapestries on the mountainside, and the pumpkin spiced deluge whenever we leave the house. Americans are extremely busy this fall; there’s barely time to stop and smell the rotting rose garden on the south lawn. Every day we get up to prepare breakfast, bathe and dress, get kids to school and ourselves to work, all before it was polite to make a phone call in my grandmother’s day. Then we work all day, prepare dinner, check homework/email, exercise, and try to find a little time to extract the interesting things that happened to our loved ones that day… before going to sleep so we can get up and do it all again.
The American GDP hamster wheel is a well-oiled machine. And our taxes should show results that reflect our work ethic. Results like healthy food, healthy land, and hope for future generations. Unfortunately, there is a big fat cat just sitting there, doing nothing but helping himself to the hamster stockpile. His name is S.O.B. Olly, (short for you-know-what oligarchy) but he goes by many nicknames. As our tax monies are given away in feed buckets, we, the people, have to start one non-profit/kickstarter/empty-mason-jar-on-the-bar after another to save the things we rely on to maintain our average hmph (hamster miles per hour.)
For instance, why do Willie Nelson and John Cougar Mellencamp have to fundraise so much each year just to ensure that American farmers have what they need to grow their crops? Shouldn’t growing our own food be one of our government’s top priorities? I mean, seriously, shouldn’t it even come before war? What business do we have waring with other monotheistic varmints if we don’t even have enough seeds? It’s time to kick Monty the cat (Monsanto) outta the barn.
And it’s time to kick Ryan Zinke’s ninth-life-living fossil of a cat off our public lands. The BLM is the government agency charged with managing and protecting our land, but they have morphed into a sad weekday morning game show host for private interests. The joke is that BLM stands for Beef, Lumber, and Mining because if you wheel and deal with the weakened, skeletal, way-past-its-prime-but-still-on-stage agency, you can pretty much take home whatever is behind Door #1, Door #2, and Door #3. Consequently, we, the people, are forced to start grass-roots organizations to actually defend and protect America’s nest egg, i.e., our own public lands.
Finally, and sadly, I bring up Betsy the cat. The kind of cat you watch helplessly as it smiles up at you in cross-eyed delight. The condition of our schools is pathetic for a country that claims to be ‘great’ at anything. And when you compare thirty-year growth of the amount America spends on schools to prisons, it really outlines our future on the chalkboard. Instead of engineers and electricians, our plan now, as a nation, is to produce a future workforce of… what, exactly? The license plates will be made by machines, as will the cars and everything else we buy online. So, what’s the plan for all these humans with hamster features imposed on their faces on social media? These young people with the latest information in their pockets, the largest buying power in our history, and the ability to determine the outcome of every. Single. Election.
Unless it’s sturdier than it looks, I think the whole wheel is going to come crashing down in revolution. Granted, it may be pumpkin spiced revolution, because we are but a simple bunch of hard-working hamsters, and we find joy where-and-whenever we can… and in the strangest things! Will someone from the next generation please explain, exactly, what is the allure of seeing cute animal features on your boyfriend’s face?! I do not get it. Of course, I’m in the autumn of my own life, and so I’m behind the curve. But don’t worry, I’m creating my own app for my future retirement plan. It’s called HamCat and it’s about hamsters dismounting the wheel and taking charge of their own future. After all, they outnumber the fat cats. And not by a little.