Some will ask, “Where did you go? In our darkest hours, we needed you. Where were you?” In the simplest terms, I exchanged the frontlines of the Revolution for the comfortable confines of the country club. Birdie putts are much more interesting than empowering the poor and Pitch FX data, plus the beer is cheaper and colder. I sold out, man, figuring my generation already traded its innocence for hesitation, so the war wasn’t mine to win anymore.
Some will ask, “Why have you come back? How long will you stay? Can we count on you?” Well, Eric Wedge is losing his mind, the President is nationalizing every industry he can touch instead of letting the free market dictate its course, Sarah Palin is still in the news, and Barry Bonds is not gainfully employed. Oh, the ice maker at the club has been a bit erratic, and the drinks haven’t been as crisp as usual. Who knows how long I will stick around — a good happy hour might just be a repair call away.
Dead Religions 