Entry tags:

walruss

amish paradise?

Dear Amish,

This is an open letter to all of you who failed to answer the countless e-mails I’ve sent(you know who you are). I’m not sure if print is still an Amish-friendly source of information, but you should be safe because – for now – The Walruss is free of any pornography. This, however, does not mean we look down upon advertising pornographers with deep pockets. But I digress.

Amish, you used to be the butt of our jokes, but now times have changed. “Weird” Al Yankovic’s parody of the popular mid-1990s Coolio song has now become a tragic narrative of innocence lost. Who knew that you would be subjected to the harsh reality that we in the outside world face on a daily basis? It took most of us outsiders until September 11th, 2001 to realize that we could be killed randomly at any moment of our lives for no particular reason, and also that there’s nothing we can do to stop it. And at least the source of our worries is logical: terrorists. Who would’ve thought a milkman could grow so deranged that he would storm a schoolhouse and exclusively shoot little girls? It this profession doomed to take the place of the “disgruntled postman” which was the source of so many bad sitcom jokes in the 1990s?

Believe me, Amish, now more than ever you should be happy that you don’t have access to the magic of television. Since the tragic schoolhouse shooting in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania – perhaps the laziest town name since Next to the Ocean, Florida or Boring, Kansas – journalists and talk show hosts have been able to do nothing but ask, “Why?” And it’s not the rhetorical “Why” that we hear so often after explosions or infidelity in our moving picture shows; these people literally want to know “WHY.” Since the killings were based on some nonsensical sense of revenge, I’ve heard nothing but the ponderings of televised morons trying to figure out how the murder of little girls could be a logical method of revenge.

Yes, we are trying to figure out some way the death of innocent little girls can be rationalized. This is not our way or coping with death; it’s just moronic. It should be obvious to both you and me that Charles Carl Roberts IV – the killer in question – was not playing with a full deck. In case you don’t understand my gambling metaphor, let’s just say that his hat was buckled just a little too tight for his own good. And if The Count of Monte Cristo was A.) not fictional and B.) aware of Charles Carl Roberts IV’s revenge plan, he would have challenged Roberts to a duel or delivered a paralyzing remark at Roberts’ expense. The Count cannot stand idly by while someone sullies the good name of revenge.

But with your community ripped apart and fear hanging in the air like the stench of manure hangs over Pennsylvania, I fear that you Amish will become even more reclusive. After all, you’re not a bad group of people, and it would be a shame to see you disappear completely. Imagine this scenario: I’m walking through the countryside, and wave to what I think is an approaching Amish person. But all of a sudden I see the flash of a quilt and the faint smell of apple butter. We still need you in our country, Amish, and before you start building Ewok tree societies and steam-powered air barn fortresses, hear me out.

Barring our milkmen, politicians, school teachers, businessmen, criminals, “cat ladies,” alcoholics, furries, Japanophiles, online gamers, and viewers of E! Entertainment Television, we’re not all that bad. This leaves at least 1000 people in our great country that you can safely interact and share your quaint lifestyle with! You can rest assured that they won’t even think about murdering your children, as they’ll be too distracted by your nightmarish life without bath gel, cappuccino, and text messaging. Just keep on keepin’ on, and the rest of us will still feel that same mix of reverence and pity that stops us from killing most people.

It’s true that as I write this using my electric computer, there are eight buttons on my person. Also, my beard is pitiful, and I wouldn’t know the first thing about raising a barn or marrying a close relative. But rest assured, you have a friend in this outsider. And even though we live very different lives, I do envy you in some respects. With your horse-and-buggy transportation, it’s like you get free hayrides every day! For most of us outsiders, this is an annual occurrence at best.

But that doesn’t make us want to murder you.

Your Pal,
Bob Mackey