"It's funny all the stuff Americans let slide," Brad said. "Like CEO pay, or anything else we let the rich get away with. Mostly it's funny because, if you asked Joe Six Pack, he'd probably say he hates rich people. But secretly, every American believes he'll join them someday, so nobody wants to see them suffer. Sure, paying a mediocre CEO millions a year just because he's managed to ascend the corporate ladder to the level where he gets to join in the Board of Directors Circle Jerk doesn't seem fair if you look at it, but if you believe, however irrationally, that you might be that dude someday, you quit resenting him."

"I just don't see how anyone can do anything about it," Marion said. "The people who regulate the stock market are all in that same circle. Nobody is going to tell his golf partner that wallowing in the corporate trough is wrong."

"Yeah. We need angry poor people to regulate things," Brad said. "See how long it takes before they bring back, say, usury laws. Anyone who has gone broke before payday, bounced three checks that totaled twenty-seven dollars, and had eighty-seven dollars in fees for those checks, would absolutely love to start regulating the snot out of the banks and credit-card companies. Hopefully, some of the hate would spill over onto corporate compensation, although it's sorta hard to imagine anyone getting all bent out of shape about, say, stock options, even if they are evil."

"You'd need a good name change," Marion said. "Like, call them 'free cash certificates,' maybe."

"Alright, so if our revolution has now shifted, and we're gonna change the world, I say we start at the top: fix the presidential race," Brad said, "and I've got a totally awesome way we could do it."

At this, he paused and assumed his best all-knowing smirk. The desperate need to scratch his ass sort of interfered with his perfect Cheshire Cat impersonation, but he soldiered on. It was important that Marion get the full benefit of his wisdom in all its glory when he told her about his latest brilliant idea.

"So, how do we fix it?" Marion asked. "A constitutional amendment banning
candidates from television?"

"No, although that'd be pretty cool, too," Brad said. "What we do is, we make all the candidates speak with a British accent. All the best villains have British accents. So, we use all our high-tech computer technology, along with all the technology the recording industry has developed to make Madonna sound good even though she's, like, eighty or something, and apply it to all the presidential candidates. Make them sound British. That way, they'll start to sound sorta villainous, right? And people will actually listen to what they're saying, rather than just how they say it. Maybe require them, by law, to periodically rub their hands together in that totally evil way that mad geniuses use when they say things like, 'Yes, yes, my plan is working perfectly! Perfectly, I tell you!' We do that, and while it wouldn't be as good as going back to the days when people chose candidates based on reading the speeches the candidates had given in the newspaper, it'd sure beat what we've got now."

"Debates would be a lot more entertaining, that's for sure," Marion said.

"No doubt, man," Brad said. "Although I've got ideas for debates, too, like shock collars that go off if a candidate ignores the question to give one of his retarded, canned responses instead. Ask, like, yes-or-no questions. Get anything other than yes or no, you shock the bastard like a Shih Tzu that just tinkled on the carpet. Ratings would go through the roof, plus we might actually learn something about the candidates."

"Like how well they stand up to pain?" Marion asked.

Brad laughed, using the momentary body-wide jiggle to sort of grind his ass against the chair, in an attempt to gain some temporary relief. "Yeah, sadly, I have a feeling most candidates would rather take high voltage to the testicles than answer questions honestly in front of the cameras. With the way they cherry-pick their audiences, it's getting to where they totally insulate themselves from ever facing the tough questions at all. Even the debates usually lob softballs,
and when they don't, nobody seems to care when candidates ignore the tough questions to yammer out whatever smarmy, self-serving piece of practiced rhetoric they feel like spewing."

“Got a little repressed anger there, do you?”

"Hey, who said it's repressed?" Brad asked. "If I'm not pissed about politicians, it's the Supreme Court. They get me so mad I sorta vapor lock. I don't even know where to start ranting. Like a terrier dropped into a pit with ten thousand rats, I just sorta freeze. Indignancy overload."

"I think it's more constructive to hate locally," Marion said. "Like the school board, for example."

"You're probably right," Brad said. "But I don't really know enough about the board to hate it. I mean, I'm sure, once I have kids, I will. And from a philosophical standpoint, I feel kinda fraudulent for not taking an interest. It's just that school boards, like most committees, are so danged boring. It's really hard to get mad at something that puts you to sleep. It'd be like trying
to watch MacNeil/Lehrer’s NewsHour for morality slips so you could complain to the FCC. How do you watch it and stay angry? Pour some fire ants down your pants while you sit? Hire a midget to walk up and slug you without warning every five to ten minutes? Sure, the school board might have the power to ruin the educations and lives of thousands of children, but they do it in such a monotonous manner. Hard to go up against, yo."

"Everything related to public schools is full of tedium," Marion said. "Wait until you go to your first PTO meeting. Not only will you be bored silly, you'll be broiled for good measure. They always seem to hold them in the non-air-conditioned gym. You sit on folding metal chairs, sweating, listening to the voices drone while you try to both pay attention and keep from passing out. In the end, they all say the same thing: Make sure your child is doing her homework. They hope you'll buy a school sweatshirt or two to help them raise money for a new computer in the computer lab. Discipline is very important, and you need to make sure you sign any notes your child brings home, and discuss any discipline issues your child's teacher tells you about. Show up for parent-teacher conferences, so your child's teacher can discuss her concerns with you in person. But at least the conferences are air-conditioned. They're almost bearable."

"Awesome," Brad said. "Something to look forward to."

"Or, you could always send your kid to private school," Marion said. "Their lectures tend to be shorter, and usually they’re air-conditioned, but there's a lot more pressure to open your checkbook. They'll hit you up for cash at least once a month, always looking to get you to buy something and support the school."

"Which makes total sense, seeing as you're already shelling out for tuition," Brad said. "But I just don't see myself sending my kid to private school. I've always, like, believed in public schools, so I'd be sorta a hypocrite if I didn't send my kids to public school long enough for something horrible to happen to them so I could yank them out and resolve to never let them go back. Or maybe I'll be one of those freaky-weird home-schoolers, although, somehow, I don't
think that'd work out so well, what with me being way lazy and stuff. I'd probably just turn on PBS and supplement it with the occasional bit of Discovery Channel. I wouldn't be totally irresponsible, though. I'd keep plenty of books around the house, and every so often, if I needed a nap, I'd turn off the TV and tell the brats they weren't allowed to play with any toys while Daddy was asleep. They could either read or stare at the wall. Let boredom force them into expanding
their little minds."

"Well, for their sake, I hope you stick with public school," Marion said. "It isn't sounding like you're home-school material. I mean, you don't have anything against evolution, do you?"

"Nah," Brad said. "I'm actually a pretty big fan. Y'know, the elegance of it all. So I wouldn't be home-schooling to, say, make sure my kids learned the earth was flat and God made the whole shebang six thousand years ago. Plus, if they ever touch themselves, they'll go to hell and burn forever. But I might teach them that, if they ever skip voting in an election once they turn eighteen, I'll refuse to post bail when they need me to. Y'know, valuable life-lesson sorts of
things. Maybe throw in one piece of crazy for free. Like, tell 'em that, if it's under twenty-five degrees, and there aren't any fires in the neighborhood, you can call the fire department and ask them to come out and make snow on your block."

"That's evil," Marion said.

"Nah, it isn't evil until I tell the kids that the only reason I never call, no matter how cold it is, is that they haven't been good enough," Brad said. "Then it'll be evil."

"Maybe you just shouldn't have children. Not everyone is cut out to parent."

"Good chance I shouldn't," Brad said. "But the way I see it, that's true of almost everyone, and that doesn't seem to stop most of 'em from breeding. Why not ensure I get something on Father's Day? Gets old, always having to kick something upstairs to the old man, never pulling in anything of my own."

Click here for Part XXI.