So at first I thought lo-roza-lo-tzarich, as you would expect someone who has been given to my mother’s influence for years on end. What I meant by that was that the US as a country can forget about me. If they – meaning uncle Sam’s evil insurers - don’t want to give me what’s coming to me, then fine, I will simply pick up my diploma and flee to my beloved motherland where the flowers bloom and people are adequately insured.
Then I realized: I am in fact the quintessential American! I have insurance, and a good one for that matter, and it’s good for nothing! And obviously, me, Tom, Dick and Harry never run from our troubles! We stay and make the world a better one. Or not.
It was flow and ebb for us today. One moment, we were the rulers of the world, the other moment we were wallowing in the mud of the earth. And when I say we were wallowing, I do not mean in the spa-sense of the word, I mean in the “down to dirt” sense: we became truly like carcasses excavated from peat bogs, bodies almost intact in their paleness.
Well, all that’s left for me is to try and portray the optimist. So how is the following for an optimist’s script?
