Among the spoils of a recent haul of old books was a quaint little volume first published in 1959 called What will I be from A to Z, written by Donald L. Gelb. As I thumbed through this sunny relic of the Eisenhower era it struck me how so much of the content, no matter how innocent and well intended at the time, would come under withering fire if presented in our modern age. The trouble begins right out of the gate with the letter A for Airplane Pilot. The young boy in the illustration holds a toy airplane in hand and glances at his sister while pointing to the passing jetliner. The message is clear, this particular aspiration is for boys only but don’t worry, your spotlight will shine when we get to H for Homemaker and O for Office Worker. The doctor, the judge, the congressman and the rocket builder? All men; and boys waiting in line to fill their shoes. That theme is repeated throughout. B for Baker presents a different sort of problem. Will he bake a cake for a gay wedding or will he decline citing religious liberty?

My how we’ve dissected ourselves since 1959 and in truth advanced opportunity for many along the way and that is a good thing. Could this book be published today as is? I don’t think so. Based on every illustration within it might have easily been subtitled Career Opportunities for White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant Children. There is not a hint of ethnicity in this book outside of the baker who appears stereotypically mediterranean and the policeman who resembles every fat Irish cop of the movies and television of the day. Any modern publisher’s legal team would spot the inequities and omissions and the ensuing public outcry a mile away.

In addition to the beneficial progress we’ve made, we’ve also managed to mire ourselves in a lot of complicated foolishness, convoluted ideals and an unhealthy malaise of balderdash and despair.

This cute little handbook for Dick and Jane cried out for updating so I’ve tacked on a verse or two of my own that I think pretty accurately illustrates the attitudes and pitfalls of our modern society. Some are social commentary, some are merely wicked. Mr. Gelb’s words remain on the page with my own addendum verses following in red. Be sure to read the original verses before tainting yourself with mine. Best read out loud, like you would to a child. In fact why not read it to a child, they’re pretty hip and may appreciate a little truth.

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One day I’ll drink before my shift

And I’ll get cockeyed plastered,

We’ll all fly into a mountainside

And perish air-disastered.

I’ll even bake a penis cake

To celebrate your wedding,

You can chase it with Schnapps at your bachelorette

And vomit on your bedding.

I’ll have a cowboy lover

We’ll meet just once a year,

I’ll tell him I can’t quit him

And I’ll shed a cowboy tear.

For every ache a patient has

I’ll push another pill,

I’ll cash fat checks from Big Pharma

And send the hicks my bill.

Until I take a curve too fast

While looking at my phone,

We’ll jump the tracks and overturn

And my passengers will be thrown.

I’ll inject my cows with growth hormones

To make them more productive,

You’re getting too much estrogen

But your man boobs look seductive.

I won’t let my employees shrink wrap a poo

Like at Circle D one once did do,

Or let them get drunk in the parking lot,

Or change dates on baloney that has started to rot,

Or thaw frozen chicken with a boiling hot hose,

No I won’t let my employees do any of those.

Till one day when I long for more

And find this life a stifling bore,

I’ll leave his ass and those brats too

And get real gone at Bonaroo.

I’ll be a real douchebag, hipster twat

And give them flavors they want not,

Like Blue Cheese Cherry with Sriracha Sauce

No Neapolitan here, ’cause I’m the boss.

You might consider bribing me

If you are seeking leniency,

Otherwise I’ll bang my gavel

And watch your puny life unravel.

And when your prized pooch takes a dump

Just leave it in the street,

And rest assured it will be picked up

By passing neighbors feet.

But don’t come in here looking for

A book that I deem racist,

You won’t find Twain or Ingalls Wilder,

Their writings are the basest.

I’ll determine what is good for you,

If you don’t like it you can beat it.

As for my PC superiority

You never will defeat it.

One day he asked me to his van

To help him move a big milk can.

When I got in he shut the door,

I just don’t want to tell you more.

I killed that milkman with a brick,

The smell of milk now makes me sick.

I’ll tell some kid “Your doll’s real sick

and has to have a surgery quick!”

I’ll go eat lunch with that cute intern Kevin,

Return and tell Sally her doll went to Heaven.

My bosses will get drunk as skunks

at three martini lunches,

And grope me in the corridor

Till I lay them out with punches.

 

No more dictation on the laps

Of that repugnant crew,

I’m heading straight to HR now

And filing my #MeToo.

It’s the only policing I can do,

Without fear of public outcry.

Handcuffed by daft society,

I can’t force these crooks to comply.

But truthfully it’s not about my team,

It’s I, me, mine to the extreme,

Before the game please look for me,

I’ll be on the sideline taking a knee.

They’ll use my rockets for defense,

with commies and martians we will dispense,

We’ll rule the galaxy just like the earth,

We’ll mine and pollute it and diminish its worth,

But we’ll say we’re making outer space great of course,

I couldn’t be prouder of our new Space Force!

After that I’ll run for Governor

And I’ll tell you I’m patriotic,

I’ll trade on my service vulgarly

with my actions idiotic.

But I will burn out pretty quick

When their parents boast and brag.

When they tell me that their brat is a genius,

I’ll roll my eyes and gag.

 

Little Jimmy picks his nose all day

And consumes the spoils before recess,

Darling Lilly has some identity issues

That I feel you better address.

 

Little Timmy can’t keep his hands to himself,

He’s known as the Cubby Hole Playboy.

Angry Jane is an Antifa bottle thrower

Who spends most of her day reading Tolstoy.

 

And then there’s Mikey, a hungry lad

Who is always devouring paste.

I’ve had it to here with your knucklehead kids,

I fear my entire career is a waste.

I’ll say I’m going to drain the swamp,

Then steal your taxes in a kickback romp,

And once in office I’ll remain entrenched

Until my gluttonous greed is quenched.

Or I’ll get a job on PBS

Playing for mincing Irish dandies.

It won’t even matter how well we play

As long as we’re eye candies.

Fact is I can really suck

And still make quite a handsome buck,

By telling you to go inside

So a tornado won’t take you for a ride..

I’ll be the worst kind of clattering alarmist

Because weatherman are all conformist.

If you’re 100 years old don’t shovel snow,

Is the extent of the knowledge that I know.

You’d better sit down, I have bad news,

Your brain stem we will have to fuse,

And that’s not the worst I’ve discovered within,

Did you know that you have a parasitic twin?

I’ll teach you great survival skills

And you better learn them right,

Because me and the other Scout leaders

Will be hunting you kids tonight.

And then one day my mind will snap

And I’ll open all the cages,

The bloody carnage that will ensue

Will make all of the front pages.

Whoa, Whoa, Whoa! Are they praying?! That’s going to be a problem.