Sure you are.  We're all losers and you're all winners.   You especially. You're a winner because you work in an air-conditioned cube for a boss who values your contribution to the team.  You're a winner because your girlfriend has sex with you once a week if she's feeling good and slips her lubricated thumb into your anus if she's feeling bad.  You're a winner because you're a non-smoker and all your friends are non-smokers too.  You're a winner because you chose not to serve your country after high school and instead went to College. Where you learned that your country is guilty. That its economy was built on the backs of Eli Whitney and his African slaves.  It gave smallpox-infected-blankets to the Native Americans.  It stole the Panama Canal from the Panamanians.  It forced an attack on itself at Pearl Harbor by depriving the Japanese economy of rubber, oil, manganese and steel, and then -- because your country is also viciously racist -- it nuked Hiroshima instead of Hamburg and Nagasaki instead of Nuremburg.  It subverted democracy in Iran, Chile, and Honduras.  It murdered the East Timorese, the Vietnamese, and the Cambodians.  It cut down the world's rain forests, destroyed its ozone, and polluted its oceans.  Your country's thirst for oil de-stabilized the Middle East, its intelligence organs built up Al Quaeda in order to fight it, and its military-industrial complex sold weapons to Saddam Hussein in order to blow them up.  Oh yes:  Your country is a disgusting piece of shit. You know this because your professors made sure that you sniffed a good fragrant sniff.

At college.

Where you learned not to believe in anything but yourself and the evil of The Man.  Where you learned to be a cynic and that God is dead and everything is relative, and there is no right or wrong because value judgements are immoral. You chose college because your teachers, your counselors, your slacker friends and your parents all told you not to eat that crap sandwich offered by Uncle Sam and his Drill Sergeants.  They advised you to eat the hot dog instead. The hot dog of an open mind, the hot dog of questioning authority and truth to power and standing up to WalMart and corporate greed and The Establishment.

Or at least, it looked like a hot dog.

It sat about waist high on a paper plate.

But you're having second thoughts now. That's right. You're wondering: What if that hot dog was really just Noam Chomsky's Viagra-thickened penis, all slathered up in mayonnaise and mustard and relish and wrapped inside a gluten-free bun?

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