Once upon a time, there were three bears. Papa bear, mama bear, and baby bear…Oh, darn it! That’s the wrong story. Wait: let me start again. Once upon a time in ‘Burbia, the land that time forgot, at least 47% of its inhabitants were a few sandwiches short of a picnic as a terrible virus seeped into the air conditioning, spreading lassitude, lunacy, and weight gain. Even the Serenity Prayer has gone viral!
God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference…By Reinhold Niebuhr
Making matters more exciting – oops, oh, dear, that was such a Freudian slipper. Making matters more distressing, the Internet was about to explode, shattering Zoom sessions into lonely bits of heartache scattered about like broken glass. And when the blow-up happened, ‘Burbians would go bonkers. Mental marbles would roll madly down cul-de-sacs as people tore each other to pieces and ran naked in the grass, shouting, “I can’t take another day with my toddler!” and, “I don’t remember how to drive!! Does anybody remember how to drive??”
Seeking Serenity in a World Turned Upside Down
Those that survive will search for new meaning in a world flipped upside down like a New York-style pizza with pepperoni and extra cheese, hold the broccoli. {Non-sequitur: Don’t you agree that people in glass houses should wear bathrobes?}
At this moment, however, the façade of ‘Burbian serenity still reigns. We see a little boy – let’s call him Pint-Sized. He sits in the grass sporting a bike helmet twice the size of his head. His swim trucks hang down to his ankles and his t-shirt is adorned with mashed bananas and the slogan, “Foresweareth all others except thy mommy.” Pint-Sized is awestruck by the divine beauty of his dump twuck and choo choo, his dearest friends now that human contact is forbudt.
Next we meet Amelia Meschuggeberger, lounging on her back deck, a stunningly beautiful creature whose mere presence oozes New York sophistication and savoir-faire. She is legendary for running seven businesses, three involving money laundering (four years in Club Fed, très chic!), while starring in six major Off-Off-Off-Off Broadway productions universally panned by only the very best critics. And she’s clocked 49 years of weekly PSYCHO-therapy, an unparalleled achievement even for a New Yorker.
Avant garde and á la mode, Ms. Meschuggeberger has been mulling life’s next big con – I mean meaning, searching for answers in a sea of shmatas and tchotchkes. “How can life have meaning when you can’t tell whether it’s today or tomorrow and, if you go to the gym, you sign a waiver stating that, if you die as a result, you can’t sue?” Feeling herself start to become agitated at the mere thought of a future without the gym, Ms. Ms. Meschuggeberger starts to repeat the Serenity Prayer. “Oh, Lordy, Lordy. Gimme that ol’ time religion. It’s good enough for me.”
A Woman’s Journey Made Lighter by the Serenity Prayer
Her search for answers has taken Ms. Meschuggeberger to the seething cauldron of evil known as the Dark Web where she watches alt-right videos of Mitch McConnell, Ted Cruz and Rand Paul (AKA “the three schmekels”) bonding over fresh roadkill and moonshine, while proclaiming “mask-wearing is the Devil’s work” and “COVID-19 is a hoax perpetrated by Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin.”
Co-inky-dinkally, Curtis the mail carrier, who has taken to wearing his boxer shorts on the outside while on the job, has alerted Ms. Meschuggeberger to a babe so pure and sweet he may be the one to soothe her soul during these challenging times. Curtis points out Pint-Sized, happily eating boogers while chewing on his dump twuck. The baby embodiment of the Serenity Prayer?!
Ms. Meschuggeberger approaches the child with a gentleness not native to her nature, hoping he can reveal the meaning of life before she ends up in Bellevue in a straitjacket. Or at least use his magical toddler thinking to mind-meld her with Dr. Armando Fauci-Bulles-Drôles, whose eerie unflappability is only matched by the eerie unflappability of Barack Obama.
Let’s Listen In to This Sacred Chat
Ms. M: “Oh sacred pip-squeak of divine serenity, shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
Pint-Sized: “Blerby boo.”
Ms. M: “Oh wise toddler, you sit on the grass like Buddha incarnate.”
Pint-Sized: “Blubbedy bluh.”
Ms. M: “Or like an old soul begging to emerge from a body that can only be defined as pudgy.”
Pint-Sized: “Blubbedy bluh bleh.”
Ms. M: “Oh venerable tot, I yearn for guidance. Please tell me. Should I touch up my roots or get a total dye job when this whole thing is over? Let us chant the Serenity Prayer together. Ommm…”
Pint-Sized: Vacuous silence accompanied by a blank stare and more booger eating
Ms. M: “Aha. Methinks thou art not Buddha. You are merely a tater tot whose destiny involves a job as a golf ball diver or armpit sniffer for a deodorant company.”
Pint-Sized: Empty silence accompanied by a stare reminiscent of an empty mailbox
Ms. M: “Keeping mum, I see. So what’s your name, my little spiritual faux pas?”
Pint-Sized: A pregnant pause accompanied by a stare devoid of gist or pith
The Sacred Chat Goes South
Ms. M: “Cat got your tongue, my little crumb cruncher?”
Pint-Sized: “Meow.”
Ms. M: “Well said, my friend whose pudginess is only outweighed by his droolyness.”
Pint-Sized: “Twuck go zoom.”
Ms. M: “Twuck go…Oh, yes! Yes!! The. Truck. Goes. Zoom.”
Pint-Sized: “Twuck…twuck!”
Ms. M: “That’s what I said, you weeny wiener… Truck!! How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child. Serenity now!”
Pint-Sized: “Twuck!!!!”
Ms. M: “Fuck the twuck! OK. Take a chill pill, shorty. Twuck…Satisfied, you little ankle biter??!!”
Pint-Sized: “Phishy pushy tushy.”
Ms. M: “Your eyes look a little dilated. Have you been smoking weed? Or popping peyote?”
Pint-Sized: “Beep, beep.”
Ms. M: “Spoken like a true pot head, Mr. Droopy Drawers.”
Pint-Sized: “Twuck go beep beep.”
Ms. M: “Hey, pip-squeak. I have a puppy in my twuck. Wanna pet it?”
Pint-Sized: “Woof.”
Ms. M: “Listen to me, you little rug rat. Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them. And it’s clearly not you.”
Pint-Sized: Thundering silence accompanied by a stare so glazed it could be a doughnut
Pint-Sized: “Poopy.”
Ms. M: “Poopy? Oh, God, you stink! Aarrrghhh…Where is that gosh darn Serenity Prayer when I need it?Hey lady, does this crapping machine belong to you? ”
Lady: “Child molester! Help! Help!!”
Ms. M: “Lady, PSYCHO-kid here promised to mind meld me with Dr. Armando Fauci-Bulles- Drôles. And maybe even Barack. Liar, liar, pants on fire!”
Lord, what fools these mortals be.
THE END
OR IS IT TIME FOR SNACK?
