The Iowa Assembly has set the stage for an epic battle-to-the-metaphoric-death between the state’s elderly population and the up-and-coming elected power mongers. Fearing the Elders may usurp their power, Iowa Lawmakers approved a bill changing the state’s Department of Elderly Affairs (DEA), not to be confused with the fed’s Drug Enforcement Agency, to the Department of Aging – or more aptly Dead on Arrival (DOA).
Recently appointed Head of D.O.A., Will T. Corpse, moves into new office in State Coroner's basement
Despite the age-old prophecy espoused by the Blind Prophet, Iowametheus, that one day a group of power-hungry legislators, armed with a deadly acronym, will rise up and destroy the Elders, the latter refuses to relinquish their walkers and allow their power to be usurped.
Masking their true intentions, Des Moines Democrat Rep. Janet Petersen, 38, claimed that the move was needed, because some people don’t like the word “elderly.”
And they would prefer being labeled DOA?
WTF?
BTW: What’s in an acronym?
When the slang acronym WTF? (What The F*CK) started popping up on e-mail and text messages, neither the World Turkey Federation or World Taekwondo Foundation caved in and changed their acronym to alleviate any confusions on behalf of the acronym-challenged. Ironically, this was not the case with the World Wrestling Federation, which threw in the white towel to its arch nemesis, the World Wildlife Foundation, which threatened to sue them after people had a hard time differentiating between George “The Animal” Steele and a Canadian black bear.
"Please Don't Feed or Recesitdate Black Bears. -- Canadian Park Rangers (CPR)"
During my formative years, I had the deepest respect for my Elders, thanks to the ‘70s television shows “Kung Fu” and “Shazam!” The only reason I wanted to be a Shaolin monk like Kwai Chang Caine and go on adventures was so I could spiritually evolve and become an Elder and give young, apprentice monks names like “Grasshopper,” or “Dung Beetle.”
In second grade when my hack optometrist diagnosed me with a severe stigmatism and prescribed lenses that looked like the bottoms of Coca-Cola bottles (hence the nickname “Coke Bottles Lindsey” at swim camp), I knew I had taken my first step into a larger world. Everyone knows if you want to be a credible prophet or a wise elder, you have to be blind, for it is written in the LARGE PRINT BOOKS.
And the only reason I wanted to be Shazam, other than probing the Elders for infinite wisdom and yelling “Shazam!” every time I needed a magic lightning bolt boost to fight evil or kick-start me after my afternoon cat nap, was so I could get into Isis’ pants.
Oh zephyr winds which blow on high,
Lift me now, so I can fly
With Almighty Isis to a motor lodge, nearby.
Come fly with me as the crow flies, Isis...
Unfortunately, I think it was the high frequency of impure thoughts such as these that helped kill any future as a prophet or wise elder, pounding the final nails into my coffin labeled with big, black stenciled letters spray-painted on the side: D.O.A.
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