So you think “the dumbing-down of America” is just a spiteful theory promulgated by the over-the-hill-gang whining about the “good old days.” Scusa me, mon ami, the decline is a fact, as plain as a wart on a bayou toad. The public education system has been on a forced suicide march since the 70’s and the graduates of that era are the parents and teachers of today. Scary. Now our children learn about life and love and language from television, the greatest addictive narcotic of them all. Not only does the boob tube dull the mind but it also aims its cultural bilge at the lowest common denominator. It broadcasts rap that masquerades as music. It glorifies violence, vulgarity and vileness like a sleazy drug dealer. It parades talking heads who don’t know the difference between “good” and “well,” “he” and “him,” and “lie” and “lay,” trotting them out as poster children of our degraded language. At the halls of government, the decay is even more pronounced. Everybody knows, generally speaking, that politicians are crooks and liars at heart; but we’re never prepared for their outright mediocrity. Hold on, you say; all these “dumbing-down” assertions are just opinions, easily debated. So it’s irrefutable proof you want. Simply witness the meteoric rise of male (and female) potency drugs. Not satisfied with mental corrosion, we’ve decided to “dumb-down” the physical body as well. What surfaced as a legitimate drug for clinical erectile dysfunction, aimed at the geriatric set, has emerged as a universal sexual crutch. In fact, world class athletes were the first pitchmen, macho types who insinuated that being manly meant gulping down Viagra. Of course, we can understand their infatuation, given their devotion to performance enhancing drugs. The glamorous models were next, leering at us smugly and lustfully, as if recently gratified. What’s it all mean? From now on, there’s no need for natural chemistry among the sexes. Biological urges are passe. Honest sexual attraction? It’s redundant, baby. Forget wasting your time and energy looking desirable or being seductive. Just pop a Propecia or Levitra. Put it in automatic drive and even Hillary might pass muster. Mmm, likely not. Too bad these hot-to-trot pills came along so late. They could have saved a lot of time at the workplace of yesteryear when making whoopee in the coat closet was an art form. And, without question, these sex potions will revolutionize the porn industry by extending the, uh, careers of overworked actors. Ah, well, why bother to have to think or feel. Either one is such a hassle. Better just lay down, sleep real good and dream of someone special and what her and I could do with a case of Cialis.

There are so many things wrong with the world, it’s hard to know where to begin. War, corruption, politicians, ignorance and pestilence occupy a lot of our attention, and deservedly so. But, quietly, almost insidiously, a far greater risk threatens our way of life. In magnificent stadiums all across the land, grown men are wearing pajama bottoms. Baseball — America’s Glorious Pastime — has become the haven for a bunch of sloppy, rumpled, bedraggled bush leaguers. With notable exceptions, baseball players suffer from arrested development, clinging to their T-Ball days, when Mommy and Daddy sat behind the schoolyard batting cages and cursed at the volunteer coaches and officials. Their sponsored uniforms often didn’t fit. The skinny kids ran around in sacks. Fat kids in what looked like spandex. But they loved them and wore them everywhere — often to bed. And if Mommy didn’t allow that sort of thing, why, she went out and bought jammies that looked just like them. Now, generations later, we have a storied game occupied by adult members of the Bad News Bears. Disturbingly, this is baseball. You might have expected other sports to dumb themselves down, and they have. But this is our “grand old game,” so steeped in its detailed lore, so exacting in its composition. Perhaps the Pajama Game is a sign of the times. Instead of inspiring their progeny to covet maturity and choose tasteful behavior, parents commit role reversal and behave more like adolescents every day. Male crotches, once located in the vicinity of the groin, now reside closer to the knees. Hairy butt cracks have become enchanting. Evidently, no one has clued-in 99% of women over 14, that an abdomen ain’t automatically sexy. You can add to this bad taste the growing array of piercings and tattoos, and begin to understand why God had issues with A&E. But all of this human decline pales in comparison to the shabby treatment of baseball by the likes of Clemens, Jeter, Bonds, A-Rod and a host of other superslobs. What a joy it was to see a true player — a throwback professional — one Alfonso Soriano — jack one out off Clemens in the recent All-Star game. He struck a blow, not just for himself, but for the sanctity of baseball. While this authentic baseball player trotted around the bases, he made his grown teammates look silly in their jammies.

If you survive long enough, getting old is life’s ultimate joke. Optimists and other cheery souls will be quick to disagree with this cynical view. They will cite a myriad of scintillating benefits that accompany the “golden” years. Hmmm, what could those be? Senior citizen discounts at I-Hop have to rank at the top. The courtesy parking slot at the mall comes in handy. Think about the hundreds of state and federal agencies devoted to the Aging. What a relief it is to have AARP, Medicare and Medicaid in your corner. Is anything more rewarding than reliving your youth babysitting with the grandchildren? And never forget the warm, secure feeling of knowing that a “retirement country club” is out there somewhere waiting for you to eventually check in, cozy up to the buffet and wait for God. Where’s the Glock, Matilda? In reality, getting old is recoiling in shock when the bored I-Hop waitress takes one look at your sagging face, assumes you’re stone deaf and yells at you. Getting old is being called a “dirty old man” for overtly lusting after a tight tush. Getting old is being portrayed on TV commercials as feeble imbeciles — addle-brained geriatrics cavorting and cackling like juvenile loonies. You begin to get the picture when you realize you’re no better than an old car — every day something else breaks and you have to fix it to keep it running. To make matters worse, you begin to accept the idea that you’ve done your duty and now you’ve earned the right to be utterly useless. You make leisure the centerpiece of your life, as if having no purpose were an achievement. Listen up, old people. Here’s a free idea that can bring meaning to your life and simultaneously transform society.. Everyone over the age of 60 — men and women alike — should comprise the combat-ready Armed Forces. That’s right, old people should fight our wars. No one under the age of 60 would be allowed on the field of battle. Young people need to be at home, with a chance to live their lives, work, have babies and build a better society. Meanwhile, old people suddenly have something useful to do. They suddenly have purpose. They suddenly discover a way to die with dignity and honor, instead of wasting away in suffocating institutions. With this idea, social security becomes a non-issue and the massive tax outlay for the aging society disappears. Children will get their inheritances sooner, enabling them to strengthen their families and build even more wealth. And when these generations reach the age of 60, they automatically leave the private sector for mandatory duty in the military. Old people can fight. Millions upon millions of them are physically-fit enough to learn anything, fly anything, drive anything and shoot anything. If life has to be a joke, let’s have the last laugh by going out in a blaze of glory.