American Hyperbole

For all those veterans who remember the Alamo, whatever that was. For all those shoeless kids from Scraggart, New Jersey who never got a chance to play golf on the surface of the moon. For all those droopy mustachioed immigrants in black-and-white photographs who formed human pyramids while balanced on skyscraper girders high above the streets of New York City. For all those who exercised their right to switch to the Verizon Wireless six-hundred minutes of talk-time plus free nights and weekends with unlimited texting plan. Yes, we have no bananas. For all those pioneers who have opened an Alfredo's House of Salami franchise in a suburban shopping mall food court in the past year. For all those crazy guys who went to Halloween dressed in a movement-restricting Gumby costume made out of smelly green foam. For all those creatively anachronistic gamers who wake up at dawn every Sunday morning, dress like Civil War Confederate soldiers, drive sixty miles to some rain sodden field to meet up with their reenactment group and then have to fall over in the mud and pretend that they got shot in the first five minutes of the reenactment. Yes but no but yes, we have no bananas. For all those bloggers who post their Amazon wish-lists in a sidebar on their site even though they really don't want most of the stuff they've listed there. For all those elderly folk who have paid the neighbor's kid to winterize their badly insulated duplex with Conford's Industrial Strength Polyurethane Sealant and don't known that it was withdrawn from the market six months ago because it contains unacceptable levels of lead. And for all those Americans out there who are cheering and shouting and crying and are not really listening to a single word I'm saying. Yes, yes, yes, yes, I have no, I say it again, I have no bananas.