Ask a Wood: Tragedy for a New World

Dear "Sandra,"

You are very, very right to believe that your demise is imminent. I'm sure it will come as uplifting news that you need not carry the pressure of trying to find your fault (as it is apparent) or waiting listlessly for ill fortune (as it is precipitate). As anyone with half a brain knows, hubris is the most common hamartia, and you, my friend, are chin-deep in it. In words a plebe like you would understand, this means that the great gum-gobbed shoe of tragedy is already on its way down, and only a deus ex machina could stop it.

 You are blind to the truth of your doubtlessly dissipated family life (just how "little," curiously, are your boys? Is this a genetic inheritance (perhaps you yourself are a "fox" in stature alone?), or is it the result of syphilis or drug use?). You are indecently vain about your corporeal charms, and your "husband," "Ronaldo," has plainly blindsided you in all but the most obvious of arenas. He is probably having multiple affairs with men and women of all social classes; the best you can hope for is that he's not paying for it (or, more aptly, that they're not).

Allow me to help you out. As fine tragedists like Euripides, Shakespeare, and Middleton labored tirelessly (but usually unsuccessfully) to prove, a hubristic downfall is not always entirely predictable, and it is crucial that you have a gameplan. I shall now go about suggesting a number (2) of possible tragic scenerios, and you can decide which sounds like the most fun.

1. You, in your foxiness and desire for revenge on "Ronaldo," begin a torrid affair with one of his brothers, Geraldo and Craig, only to discover that they have been abusing your sons for years with the help of your avuncular priest, hence the boys' crippling syphilis; you contract the same infection from said Craig, dying dramatically in the vestibule at the very moment you hear your husband confessing to said priest that he did, once, plan a liaison with a prostitute, but, out of fear and shame, backed out and passed the reservation off to his brother, and that he has felt guilty ever since Craig fetched the Syph the very same night, and that he wishes his penance to be a life of unfettered service to his wife's whims

or

2. You, in your vain quest to look a bit less like a fox and more like, say, a Brazilian fox, decide to have every hair plucked from your body; the resulting pain forces you to use your societal connections to acquire an under-the-counter prescription of Oxycontin; your drug-thirsty son, finding the stash, overdoses and dies, after which your bereaved husband subtly poisons you, only to marry a young, fearlessly furred fox in less than three months, commenting all the while that he has always preferred more "natural" women.

I personally recommend Option 1. 2 just sounds heinous.

Yes, let them. It serves them right.

By Caroline Wood

Strawberry Shortcake is corrupting our youth.

As many of you know, I am neither an alarmist, nor an over-reactor; nor am I a weak, passionate girleen ferried to lunacy on the critically flooding stream of her own emotions.

That is all, in fact, untrue. But like any concerned, slightly bored citizen, I bear the duty of proclaiming when our nation is in trouble, and perhaps even filming a major cable news network documentary about it. Although I am still finalizing the rights to “Strawberry Thwartcake: Putting our Children’s Conscience in a Diabetic Coma,” my heartfelt message of condemnation will never be negotiated.

“Strawberry Shortcake” does not meet even one of the most basic key Educational Enrichment Video requirements: it features no clergy, no extended families, and no chastening rod. Strawberry herself is a pampered, bratty loser. Innocent? I don’t think so.

Unfortunately, the Shortcake debacle, though sobering, is only one example of a self-evident trend: cake is simply getting out of hand.

Back in the 90’s, when the cacophonous minstrels known as “CAKE” were releasing such aberrations as their notorious cover of “I Will Survive,” we said it could do us no harm to turn a blind eye to the cultural crises this diabolical treat was bringing upon us. Since then, things seem to have only gotten worse, what with the advent of “diaper cakes” (right), The Cheesecake Factory, and the equally cacophonous band “The Sea and Cake.” And yet as we consider history, it becomes increasingly clear that cake’s pernicious influence is nothing new. It is no surprise that “Let them eat cake!” has become the tagline of ruthless and self-centered rulers throughout history.

It would certainly not be difficult to opt for pie out of our own selfish motives. It’s hard not to cave to crisp, flaky crusts, steaming, juicy fruits, and velvety smooth custards (chocolate cream, I must point out, is no “fruit mixture”). Many of our personal favorite gourmands prefer a dessert that actually imparts a distinct, recognizable flavor, a baked good you can eat warm with ice cream while still maintaining your identity as a self-respecting adult.

Boycott cake today. You could easily do it for yourself. But please, do it for your progeny.

For more on the horrors of cake, please visit http://www.theyrecoming.com/extras/pumpkinfest03/ (Warning! Only for the brave of heart! (sorry)).