Tis the season

It's that time of year we voluntary minimalists are supposed to put on the itchy robes of self-righteousness, condemn rampant consumerism and preach the gospel of Less is More.

"Americans buy things to fill the void in their meaningless lives yadda yadda yadda..."

"Free yourselves from the slavery of stuff, move to your inner Waldon and get in touch with your yearning soul blah blah true happiness blah blah blah..."

"Central heating and indoor plumbing are of the devil!"

You're converted, right?

Yawn.

I'll let The Tubes sing it for me:

What do you want from life?

To kidnap an heiress or threaten her with a knife

What do you want from life?

To get cable TV and watch it every night

There you sit, a lump in your chair

Where do you sleep and what do you wear when you're sleeping?

What do you want from life?

An Indian guru to show you the inner light

What do you want from life?

A meaningless love affair with a girl that you met tonight

How can you tell when you're doin' alright?

Does your bank account swell while you're dreaming at night?

How do know when you're really in love?

Do violins play when you're touching the one that you're loving?

What do you want from life?

Someone to love and somebody that you can trust

What do you want from life?

To try and be happy while you do the nasty things you must

Well, you can't have that, but if you're an American citizen you are entitled to:

a heated kidney shaped pool, 

a microwave oven--don't watch the food cook, 

a Dyna-Gym--I'll personally demonstrate it in the privacy of your own home, 

a king-size Titanic unsinkable Molly Brown waterbed with polybendum, 

a foolproof plan and an airtight alibi, 

real simulated Indian jewelry, 

a Gucci shoetree,

a year's supply of antibiotics, 

a personally autographed picture of Randy Mantooth 

and Bob Dylan's new unlisted phone number,

a beautifully restored 3rd Reich swizzle stick,

Rosemary's baby,

a dream date in kneepads with Paul Williams, 

a new Matador, a new mastodon, 

a Maverick, a Mustang, a Montego, 

a Merc Montclair, a Mark IV, a Meteor, 

a Mercedes, an MG, or a Malibu, 

a Mort Moriarty, a Maserati, a Mac truck,

a Mazda, a new Monza, or a moped, 

a Winnebago--Hell, a herd of Winnebago's we're giving 'em away,

or how about a McCulloch chainsaw, 

a Las Vegas wedding, 

a Mexican divorce, 

a solid gold Kama Sutra coffee pot, 

or a baby's arm holding an apple

Can I get an amen?