Column: Will Durst, Raging Moderate

Easier than duck fat in muffin tins to figure out why Americans are so darn freaked out and polarized these days. It’s because we’re afraid. Afraid we’ve lost our way. Afraid of not being No. 1. Afraid of what may be in store. Of all that we don’t know. Because, face it, there’s so much we don’t know. We don’t even know … how much we don’t know.

Seriously. When it comes down to it, I am prepared to not know 80 percent of what’s going on. But what if what I don’t know is more than I know it to be. Hunh? What then? What if what I don’t know is more like 90 percent? Or 99 percent? I’m continually amazed I keep from impaling myself on forks at mealtimes considering how little I know.

Not just the future. Screw the future. There’s tons of basic stuff, little stuff, we don’t know. Like, when you’re looking for your glasses and they’re on the top of your head, how come doesn’t the extra weight doesn’t tip you off? Where are all the baby pigeons? What’s that groove between your nose and your mouth for? Mucus gutter?

We sure as heck do not have one clue about any of the big stuff. How old is the universe? You know, where we live. Smartest brains in the history of our civilization guess the universe started around 13 billion years ago, plus or minus 7 billion years. Nice margin of error there. Hell, if they’d have given me that, I could have passed algebra. “2x plus 3y equals 6xy plus or minus 7 billion.” “Got to give it to him, he’s in the ballpark.”

And exactly how did all those dinosaurs die? Last major life form on the planet. Wiped out, en masse, instantaneously. How come? That kind of knowledge could come in handy down the line. Guess what? Nobody knows. Best hypothesis: weather got weird. So, what’s happening now? Weather’s getting weird. Mostly from the fumes from our cars, which are run on fossil fuels. Ain’t life odd?

We still don’t know why aspirin works.

We don’t know why they still make Strawberry Quik. Come on. Nobody buys it twice.

We don’t know why macramé has competing trade journals.

We don’t know why “CSI: Miami” is still on the air.

We don’t know why John Boehner is so orange.

We don’t know why the birth of the Son of God is represented by a fat, bearded guy in a red suit.

We don’t know why people think any piece of clothing they can squeeze into, fits.

We don’t know why Celebrity Russian Roulette hasn’t been turned into a reality show. (With the first season devoted to slowly winnowing the Kardashians.)

We don’t know why headcheese is so dreadful when its individual components are so luscious.

We don’t know why Keith Richards is still alive.

We don’t know nothing.

Hell, I don’t know so much, I honestly can’t figure out why, if the Earth is round, how come the penguins don’t fall off the bottom. Sure, sure, you can talk about gravity till you’re blue in the face, but somebody somewhere is always upside-down. How does that work? Even in North America, shouldn’t we be at a severe slant? Don’t ask. Don’t tell. Don’t worry. I don’t know nothing. And if we’re going to be perfectly honest here, neither do you.

 

The New York Times says Emmy-nominated comedian and writer Will Durst “is quite possibly the best political satirist working in the country today.” Check out the website: Redroom.com to find out more about upcoming stand-up performances or to buy his book, “The All-American Sport of Bipartisan Bashing.”