by Francois Riviere

I was relaxing in my apartment with a bottle of Lafite-Rotshild and a triangle of Brie while reminiscing about lovely Paris when the phone rang. I let it ring for some time before I picked it up. This was mostly due to the fact that I was almost one hundred percent sure of who it was.

The phone rang until it became quite obvious that there was only one person who would be annoying enough to let a it ring for 5 minutes. I made a mental note to finally go out and buy an answering machine for just this sort of occasion

"'alo," i picked up the phone.

"�alo," I said.

"Dude. Francois, what�s up man? I knew you were there," it was Leon King, my pathetic excuse for an American liaison. "Dude, are you with a chick man? Why didn�t you pick up?"

"No Leon. I am simply sitting in my apartment and drowning myself in a bottle of red wine, asking myself why I ever stepped foot in this rotting country"

"Cool. So, uh, check this out. I�m going down to Iowa City today for the weekend to hang with Tucker. Want to come?"

"No, I�d rather not," I said. The last thing I wanted to do was spend a weekend with those two buffoons.

"Oh, come on man. It�ll be cool. You�ll get to see more of the country, y�know."

"That is the last thing I want to do, besides, don�t you have to work?"

"Work? That�s funny Francois," he laughed arrogantly. "Listen I�ll pick you up at three. Peace!"

With that he hung up and I found myself stuck. Of course, I could have just as easily not answered the door when he stopped by, or fled by foot to some bar where he would never find me, but my curiosity got the best of me. What else was I going to do anyways, I thought to myself. I came to America to see America. After all, it couldn�t be much worse.

I fell back into my chair and sipped another glass of wine. "Job?" he questioned me. Of course he didn�t have a job. Why would he, after all?

This new America doesn�t know what it means to struggle. They don�t know the meaning of working towards something. Those that do are dying out, growing old. This new generation is all but lost. Spoiled and complacent in the fruits of their victories. Living on borrowed time and money that exists solely as a number on a computer screen.

They whine endlessly until they receive candy to shut them up. They do wrong, and receive a pat on the wrist, or instant celebrity. Your chances of "making it" are far better as a murderer or crook than on an honest path.

So overly sensitive, these pathetic children. Free speech so long as it runs a long with the interests of the vocal majority. Innocent comments are normally twisted into exaggerated slurs by supposed civil rights groups. It�s a country segregated by choice campaigning under the illusion of equality, when they are only looking out for what�s in their own best interests. It�s a "Me" society and you better pay attention. Everyone is a victim here. Like all children they want to be the center of attention. "Me, me, me, me, me!" Annoying little fucks. Don�t you know children are to be seen and not heard?

Maybe that�s why I decided to just go to Iowa with Leon. To find who the real victims are. What better place to find the answers on a college campus. To find the real victims of this new America.

Two hours later I heard a familiar voice penetrating my 5^th floor window from a distance. I looked out to see Leon screaming and waving his arms like an idiot in the middle of the busy street. Perfectly normal behavior I gathered from the lack of reaction on the street.

I made eye contact and he disappeared back into his car. Leon is fairly easy to spot because of his small frame. In a country where 55% of its people are overweight and 23% of those are obese, he is the exception. Maybe we�ll all be lucky and one day this country will sink under its own weight, bringing an order to the chaos it breeds.

We wouldn�t be so lucky though. They would probably find a way to bring the rest of the world down with them. If ever there was a country that strayed so far from the ideals on which it was created it�s this one. How very sad.

Five hours later, after ditching Leon and Tucker, I found myself wandering aimlessly around glorious Iowa City. Churches seemed to spring up at every corner. This was America I thought to myself. Jesus to the right of me, in front of me a row of bars.

"Convenient," I thought to myself. "Very convenient"