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twelve miles with ceramic jugs on their heads to get clean drinking water and another twelve miles back. Hunting and searching for scraps of rice. Or killing and skinning and deboning what we would call pets for dinner. Or chopping branches and wild brush in order to rethatch the rooftops on their meager huts after the most recent monsoon/hurricane/tsunami left them sleeping under the stars. This is when they aren't working for slave wages under the scrutiny of whatever dictator/communist regime currently runs their country while they work seventeen hours a day to make Nike sneakers that cost pennies to produce and sell at your local Foot Locker for slightly less than five hundred bucks. Meanwhile-we buy aluminum- or titanium-tubed gizmos they made for Suzanne Somers to sell to us so that we can tone and firm up our oversized thighs and ass cheeks. Then we wonder why the ones who can't get here to live just wanna watch someone-anyone-blow us up. Hmmm.
        
NASCAR
        
        Most of these people have never been IN a car even though they live in countries absolutely polluted with deep, thick, unbelievably rich oil and gas preserves. And we have rules in place so that if Kasey Kahne or Jeff Gordon tries to sneak jet fuel into his gas tank we can fine him-just so they don't have an unfair advantage as they race around a circular track at two thousand miles an hour for half a day in order to win a couple of million dollars.
        Look-I'm like you-I like to see car crashes as much as the next guy. Especially when it doesn't happen on a highway I'm driving across and therefore affects my commute. And especially when it's in a controlled situation that includes high-def cameras so I can watch the crash replayed in digital slo-mo from seventeen different angles.
        But let's face the facts-in many places other than America and Europe-this may be the biggest example yet of profligate waste and arrogant expense. One tribe saunters along through 27,000-degree heat under a desert sun on top of a thirsty camel in search of moisture and food while down in Daytona Beach well-fed white hillbilly guys with leather jumpsuits on ride multicolored road rockets 500 miles to nowhere.
        Tennis, anyone?
        How about golf?
        
REHAB
        
        They've never even heard of it.
        Until rich white American celebrities started "entering" it.
        They drink red wine with lunch and dinner and live to be one hundred and sixteen years old.
        We have celebutards who can't make it past age nineteen without downing eleven-hundred-dollar bottles of champagne and vodka while blowing eight balls up one orifice and sucking weed and x through another.
        Been drinking without wearing panties for six to eight months?
        Rehab.
        Image declining because of late-night drunk-driving arrests and numerous public pukefests?
        Rehab.
        Wanna kick that nasty heroin/cocaine habit and get back in the good graces of the studio execs who won't hire you for that next big movie or TV show?
        Rehab.
        Why-we can even cure your homosexuality. Ted Haggard did three weeks in a rehab center and came out claiming he was back in love with women.
        What a deal. Go gay for as many years as you like-hell, throw in an addiction to methamphetamines-and whenever you feel the need (or you get outed in the press by a male hooker/drug dealer, whichever comes first), get back in the good graces of the public AND your wife by spending three weeks in a glorified spa and pop out the other side drug free and no longer desiring anal sex with men.
        Talk about worth the price of admission.
        And then-once again-there's Britney. She did one day in Eric Clap-ton's Crossroads rehab facility and then checked out. A week later she did a day at Promises in Malibu before checking out. Then she checked into a third rehab joint about a week later. She was a little confused at