The Poor Children in China

A letter from Tyrone Nguyen Rocksemsocksem this morning reminds The Great Plotnik that when he and others in his generation (born after the Thirty Years War but before the I-Pod) were little Plotters, they were all told to clean up their plates, to eat every morsel, because little children in China were starving.

So, what the Hell. Now, look at us. China is about to be on top of the world and many of the same people who were starving then, and only managed to get enough to eat because they somehow assimilated all the mashed green beans and grotesquely putrified creamed spinach that we wouldn't touch, can eat whatever they like. And does one of them ever call or write?

Because of the Great Plotnik, our country owes $100 quadzillion dollars to China. Are the families in Guangzhou sitting down to their Sunday repasts of meat loaf and mashed potatoes today, and when little fingers don't gobble down every morsel do their parents kvetch: "Eat! Eat, Changeleh My Darling! Little children in America need new X-Boxes!"

It still amazes Plottie that the Chinese (and the Polish and the Ukrainians and the Russians and the Europeans) really wanted to eat that crap, and also that Grammy Plotnik, who couldn't read or write, somehow managed to package it all up, take it down to the post office and mail it to a family in Beijing. Hell, it wasn't even called Beijing then. How in the world did she know?

But the proof is in the pudding. Look at them, look at us. They are strong, standing straight in the air, proud to be in ascension. We are so fat they have to retrench our theme park rides. We're slovenly, pathetically stupid and hopelessly unaware of the world around us -- and it's all because of those brussels sprouts Plottie and his brother had tried to give to the dog. Damn! Even HE was in on it!