My favorite slice:
First of all, anyone who goes on television and says something like, “I’m in Main Street America a lot, as I think you know,” should immediately be shuffled off to bed, the sentence itself containing all the symptoms of encroaching social decrepitude. Secondly, as we all know, Main Street America is not located in Hough in Cleveland, or in Bed-Stuy, or in south central Los Angeles. But, in fairness, let’s discuss Main Street America as Tom Brokaw describes it. Actually, Tom, you should’ve stuck around a little longer on Main Street America. Here’s what happened after you left.
Well, the Republican banker’s bank got gobbled up by Bank of America, which foreclosed on the Democratic contractor’s house through a robo-signing scam. He’s living in his car now. It also laid off three-quarters of the staff at the bank, including the Republican banker. He’s a greeter at the Wal-Mart they built across town, which undercut the prices of the lady who ran the grocery store and put her out of business. The housing bubble burst, so the guy with the backhoe sold it for scrap and he’s spent the last year looking for work. For the moment, he’s the cashier in the tattoo parlor that moved in where the grocery store used to be. Mainly, he drinks a lot. Once a week, they all get together and find a way to keep their families moving toward the soup kitchen run by the nice Methodist ladies on the outskirts of town.
