Americans are, for the most part, self-centered assholes. We cut people off on the highway, we don’t flush toilets after we’ve used public restrooms, and at some point in our lives, we’ve all chopped off our friend’s eyebrows and eyelashes while they were sleeping, simply for a five minute chuckle. This self-centeredness also applies to foreign affairs - as illustrated time and time again, and most recently with that cyclone disaster in that random country nobody has ever really heard of. Maybe I’m going out on a limb, but I believe this self-centeredness is partially why the rest of world hates America with such vigor.  Thus, for the sake of America, and to bolster our national image in the eyes of the world, we need more Americans to pretend they care about foreign affairs.

Of course, most Americans have more important things to worry about than those 25,000 (or more) people who died in last week’s cyclone or the tens of thousands who are dying in Africa every year. And perhaps this isn’t the best time to galvanize the American public, what with an exciting NBA playoff season and Hannah Montana’s scandalous photo shoot currently captivating our attention. However, sooner or later, Americans need to start caring, or at least pretending to care, about the horrible shit other countries are facing. If not, we’re going to continue looking like assholes, and no new president, regardless of how black, old, or vagina-bearing he/she is, will change the situation for us.

At the end of the day, I’m not asking for Americans to become better people. Hell, I’m not even asking us to pretend to be better people. However, the next time you hear that 25,000 (or more) people have suddenly died in a foreign country, at least lower the volume on your NBA playoff game and say “Damn, that sucks.” You can then resume watching the game.

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American culture is largely defined by our technology - we watch television constantly, we can’t leave the house without our ipods and iphones, and who knows the last time an American had sex with their partner without the use of a battery operated device. With the growth of technology, moreover, literature in America has taken a back seat, and we have become progressively stupider. So stupid, in fact, that we commonly adapt our country’s best selling novels into pornographic films, such as the 2002 indie hit “Harry Twatter.” But in order to restore our intelligence, we must re-evaluate our literary canon within the context of today’s culture. After all, if Americans can’t respect literature, how are we ever going to learn from it? Thus, for the sake of America, as the first step to restoring our respect for literature, we need Herman Melville’s classic novel to be retitled “Moby Richard.”

As it stands, no red-blooded American can honestly read Melville’s novel and keep himself/herself from laughing. Sure, we can “practice restraint” and “try to be mature,” but at the end of the day, the word “dick” is simply hilarious - and only a superhero or a Nazi wouldn’t giggle when they read it. Of course, this is particularly unfortunate because Melville’s novel is said to be very well-written and educational - the perfect vehicle to put literature back into the forefront of American culture. So why, oh why, would we ever want to throw away the book’s import with an immature (yet hilarious) word like “dick?” Seems pretty stupid, if you ask me.

But who knows? Perhaps changing the title from “Moby Dick” to “Moby Richard” wouldn’t make Americans want to read again. Perhaps Americans would still think the word “Richard” is funny because it reminds them of the word “dick.” And what’s more, even if we did start to read again, maybe we’d discover that our stupidity was too advanced for any degree of reversal. However, even if only one American were able pick up Melville’s novel and make it past the first page without laughing, then I’d say a retitling is in order. After all, I hear it’s a pretty good book - even better than the pornographic adaptation (coincidentally, also named “Moby Dick”).

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In my recent article about the decline of America’s fast food industry, I laid blame on Burger King (and their rapist mascot) for losing the trust of the American consumer. Soon after the post was published, I received a flood of e-mails from both BK fans and rapists from the around country, proclaiming that McDonald’s was also to blame for the state of America’s fast food industry. Although I was a little shaken by those e-mails which ended with the words “p.s. I want to rape you,” I eventually came to realize my shortsightedness - McDonald’s, just like BK, has totally screwed up in the trust department.

More specifically, their catchy slogan and slick advertising has made getting fat seem fun for almost seventy years. The result is a huge population of Americans who might be addicted to McDonald’s food, but are too fat and angry (about their fatness) to support the company, much less the industry. Thus, for the sake America and our fast food industry, and to restore trust with the American consumer, McDonald’s needs to change their slogan to something drastically more honest - for example, “C’mon, You’re Fat Anyway.”

Although this new slogan would certainly not encourage more Americans to start gorging on McDonald’s, America already has an ample supply of fat people. At this point, moreover, McDonald’s is best served by concentrating on these pre-existing fat people and winning back their support - after all, if only a few of America’s fattest people continued eating McDonald’s, or even Queen Latifah by herself, McDonald’s would still turn a profit and prosper for years to come.

The American public is tired of people lying to us - our parents, our politicians, and of course, our fast food companies. We simply want to be recognized for who and what we are: fat. Very, very fat. Moreover, if McDonald’s would respect this desire by changing their slogan to “C’mon You’re Fat Anyway,” the results would be significant. They would not only win back the trust of their fat American customers, but with a little luck, they could revitalize the reputation of the entire fast food industry.

In closing, just like the gays, Americans are fat and proud. It’s about time that the fast food industry got used to it.

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Does anybody else remember the good old day of American sports, before they lost their innocence? Basketball players used to have socks up to their knees, boxers never even dreamed about wearing headgear, and football players could beat their wives without any fear of criminal prosecution. Nowadays, however, our professional athletes are greedy sons of bitches, driven by fame, money, and more often than not, steroids. In order to combat this trend before American sports are ruined forever, we need to restore the innocence of the bygone days. More specifically, we need to create a major league for mini golfers.

Although not every American is necessarily a mini golf enthusiast, the sport is widely associated with the sort of innocence that we need to reclaim. From the outset, the league would attract players that did not take themselves too seriously, individuals who simply putt for the love of putting. Of course, assuming that many of America’s youth would become professional mini golfers, there would need to be a rigorous screening process to weed out sore losers, hissy fitters, and last but not least, pedophiles.

Naturally, it’s possible that America would not take the league seriously enough, and it could dissolve soon after it was formed. Moreover, perhaps the league would turn out to be a tremendous waste of money and never influence professional sports to any degree. However, if America is capable of stomaching the WNBA for more than a decade, I must ask: could a professional mini golf league really be such a disaster?

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In a recent Shit America Needs article, I spoke about some unfortunate examples of America’s sexual conservatism - a limited number of nude beaches, harsh penalties against indecent exposure, and the crippling stigma that’s attached to hooking up with one’s hot relatives. However, America’s sexual conservatism sometimes doesn’t go far enough nor does it always extend in the right directions. Most notably, America has neglected to address the problem of banana hammocks on public beaches, those men who flaunt their ding dongs and give bystanders an unwanted approximation of their size/dimensions. Not only are these men an offense to their immediate bystanders, but they haunt every American who has ever seen their banana hammock and later failed to erase the image from their minds. Thus, for the sake of America, in order to stop the spread of banana hammocks before its too late, we need a punch in the balls for all American men who wear banana hammocks at the beach.

Although supporters of the banana hammock might contend that bystanders can always look in the other direction, this argument is as limp as the bulge in their hammocks. When any red-blooded American sees something out of the ordinary, whether it be a car crash, a female comedian who tells a funny joke, or a man wearing a lady’s bathing suit, we can’t help but stare. Perhaps this doesn’t apply as much to foreign countries, but Americans are nosy, gawking individuals, and thus different hammock etiquette applies. On another note, it might seem contrarian to support nude beaches yet oppose banana hammocks. On nude beaches, after all, bananas can hang without their hammocks. However, nude beaches provide enough “out of the ordinary” scenery such than any glimpse of a plain banana is counter-balanced by more appealing fruit - principally, melons. Therefore, when Americans go to sleep the night after visiting a nude beach, they aren’t simply thinking about bananas, but more likely, a pleasant fruit medley.

Of course, it would be difficult to ensure that every American man who wore a banana hammock would indeed get a punch in the balls. It’s also unlikely that every man who got punched would later choose to wear a more practical bathing suit. However, even if only a few of them chose to retire their hammocks, this venture would be well worth our effort. And so, I plead: the next time you see an American man wearing a banana hammock at the beach, don’t even try looking away; for me, for yourself, and for future Americans who might cross paths with that banana hammock in the future, please just punch him in the balls.

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Ever since the outbreak of e.coli at Wendy’s in the 90s, America’s trust for our fast food industry has plummeted. For a while, even some of America’s fattest and least disciplined citizens were ordering single cheeseburgers instead of doubles and triples. Some even ordered chicken nuggets. And of course, those radical studies which claimed that fast food was “bad for you” and “could increase cholesterol levels” didn’t help the situation. Moreover, this sort of negative PR, which continues to this day, will inevitably kill the industry - unless the industry does something drastic. Thus, for the sake of America, and for the industry that makes us fatter (aka more American) by the minute, we need the Burger King to finally admit he’s a rapist.

Sure, the health concerns associated with fast food are extremely important to American consumers. However, it is particularly difficult to support, much less trust, one of our country’s premier fast food establishments when it’s so obvious that their mascot is a rapist. America traditionally hates all rapists, even those hot female teachers who “take advantage of” their junior high students, so how can we possibly be expected to eat a rapist’s hamburgers?

Naturally, if the Burger King were to admit he’s a rapist, there would be a dramatic outcry from both fat Americans and skinny Americans alike. However, so long as the King continues lurking in the shadows and smiling for no apparent reason, the fast food industry will never have its trust restored. Of course, I’m assuming that Burger King’s subsequent mascot would not also be a closeted rapist.

Who knows? Maybe I’m blowing the situation out of proportion. Maybe I’m overreacting. But personally, I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night to discover the King standing above me and a giant, hot whopper in my face.

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America is one of the most sexually conservative countries in the world. We have fewer nude beaches, harsher penalties for indecent exposure, and apparently, it’s still considered taboo to make out with your hot cousins on their birthdays. Given this conservatism, it is not surprising that over 90% of Americans claim to not be getting as much “action” as they would prefer. (Note: Data collected from an informal study amongst my close friends.) Meanwhile, not only do many American laws discourage sexuality, but some downright forbid it. Thus, in order to get more Americans the “action” they deserve, and start curbing our country’s institutionalization of “blueballness,” we need the American government to legalize sex in airplane lavatories.

Even with the growing expense of air travel, a large percentage of Americans fly on commercial planes every week. Moreover, if two Americans, perhaps co-workers, are able to find the time in their busy schedules to bone in the airplane lavatory, then their boning should not only be legally sanctioned, but by golly, it should be commended. Sure, some Americans are already members of the infamous “mile high club,” but the vast majority of them are either dirty liars (ie. my friends), or they joined the club on a solo membership (ie. my friends).

Obviously, it could be uncomfortable to hear two individuals having intercourse in the airplane lavatory, not to mention subsidiary health and safety concerns. However, America already has a pretty sizable reputation problem on our hands. Do we also really want to be known as a cockblock?

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With the obvious exception of the Iraq War, Americans are a very well prepared people - mothers always carry extra baby wipes, douchebags always pack condoms in their wallets and glove compartments, and Calista Flockheart (aka Ally McBeal) always puts sandbags in her jacket before going outside on a windy day. However, Americans have also come up short on the condiment front - particularly unfortunate because we love eating and throwing unnecessary/fattening shit on top of our food. To be honest, it’s reached a point where Americans can no longer pull up to a fellow American’s car, and ask: “pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?” with even a slight chance of an affirmative answer. Moreover, it’s likely the other American will laugh in your face. Thus, for the sake of America’s eating betterment, and to help re-instate condiments into our culture, we need more Americans to carry Grey Poupon in their cars.

Many Americans do not understand the importance of condiments, regardless of how frequently they use them. However, the fact remains that condiments mean more calories, which yields fatter people, who, by virtue of their fatness, embody the American way. In other words, by not supporting condiments, particularly the more fattening ones like Grey Poupon, you are spitting in the face of patriotism. America, after all, is not a place for skinny people who question our country’s eating habits; it’s a place where a man can take a bath in ketchup, lick himself clean, and feel good about himself in the morning.

Even though Grey Poupon is originally a product of French culture, America has re-appropriated it as our own. However, if more Americans do not start carrying Grey Poupon in their cars, it might very well slip from our culture, much like it slipped from theirs. Maybe you think it’s ridiculous to ask a fellow American: “pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?” Maybe you aren’t even a huge fan of mustard in the first place. Whatever. I won’t fault on either account. However, next time you’re sitting in traffic with a dry hot dog on your lap, please. Do me a favor. Don’t even think about asking me to roll down my window. I’ve already told you to get your own Poupon.

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My fellow Americans: I spoke too soon. In yesterday’s Shit America Needs, I pre-maturely stated that Americans are able to imagine the Olsen Twins naked and not feel guilty about it. After receiving floods of e-mails from family members, ultra right wing “Full House” fans, and an assortment of e-douchebags who nitpick everything on the Internet, I realized my unfortunate mistake. However, for the edification of your humble narrator, and those more liberal-thinking “Full House” fans in our glorious country, America needs someone to decide, once and for all, when we can imagine our favorite celeb twins getting their full houses rocked - and not feel guilty about it.

Perhaps this day will not come anytime soon. If Google search results are any indication, we’re totally screwed - “Olsen Twins Side Boob,” believe it or not, despite all their recent scantily clad outfits, only comes up with five entries. Personally, I was hoping for something closer to hmmm… I don’t know… let’s say a billion. However, until the day that the Olsen twins’ nudity is no longer taboo, and the Google SERPs for their “side boob” crack at least double digits, we must try not to offend our fellow Americans. If, however, you do offend your fellow Americans, as I did in yesterday’s article, simply shrug your shoulders, smile an innocent smile, and squeak out Ashley/Mary Kate’s famous catchphrase: “Don’t have a cow, dude.” And here’s a further tip - when you squeak out the catchphrase, try not to imagine the twins milking the cow without their tops on. That’s just dirty.

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America loves our celebrities - even the crazy ones who shave their heads, endanger the lives of their children, and show their nether regions, on a fairly consistent basis, when getting out of cars. However, although we purport to value our celebrities as individuals, this is a far cry from the truth - we tend categorize them, primarily because the American brain can only handle so much complexity. (The current Democratic presidential contest, as a parallel, isn’t about Obama v. Clinton, but rather “a nice guy who likes hope” v. “a woman with experience and most likely, a vagina.”) Given this limitation, it is unfortunate that two of our country’s most influential celebrities, Bruce Springstein and Tony Danza, are categorized in such conflicting ways - resulting in widespread confusion across America. Moreover, in order to erase this confusion, and clarify the identities of these two fine celebrities, America needs Bruce Springstein and Tony Danza to finally decide who’s the “Boss.”

Since Springstein and Danza have both made tremendous impacts on America in their careers, it will not be easy for either of them to concede the title “Boss.” In fact, it will be pretty damn near impossible - more difficult than all those times Tony fought the urge to sleep with Angela because he knew it would dramatically complicate their relationship. Additionally, it is conceivable that diehard Springstein/Danza fans wouldn’t accept their respective idol’s concession, even if he was given a cool substitute title like “Chief,” “Sensei,” or “Tiger Heart.” However, both Springstein and Danza are well aware of the confusion their conflicting categorization has created, and America will be much better off when this confusion is eliminated.

Certainly, it would take time for many Americans to accept that Springstein or Danza is no longer the “Boss” - just like it took time to accept that Americans are allowed to imagine the Olsen twins naked and not feel guilty about it. But in the long run, America will be a less confused country, and Springstein and Danza will stop responding at the same time when people ask “Who is the Boss?” Trust me, that’s always uncomfortable.

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