We brake for the little guy

We, the permanently degreed, the eternally entitled snot-nosed kiddies and the grey pantherhinos of the post-industrial, post-whatever age, we brake for the little guy.

We also recycle plastic and metal, and phrases, thoughts, concepts, ideas and ideology -- both of which share the "id" with the beloved word "idiot".

The "We brake for the little guy" image is a smoothly polished combination from the bumper stickers of the Mel Brooks movie Spaceballs "We brake for nobody" and the eco-car's  "I brake for toads".

While we are busy cutting social safety nets for well considered reasons, of course, we can now openly engage in dissing the less fortunate.

We can gently nudge those not intelligent enough, not driven enough, not cruel enough, out of the cozy safety net of the nanny state and over the cliff.

The nanny state that only ever existed in our learned and our un-learned discourse. How often do we have to tell you that Social Security was not invented to turn all of us -- not just the K-Landnews team -- into the slackers we never dreamed to become?

Do you know a single child whose dream of a career is to become a good-for-nothing lazy bum?
The real nanny state is yet to come, underpaid, grumpy, beholden to very few people who have all the power.
And with it, the usual nanny stuff:  
Oh, you've been naughty, so no dinner for you today, is becoming a reality for more people.
You are grounded, no TV, no Internet for a month!
Next time I catch you with a cigarette...

Mr. Bismarck, the paragon of Social Security, was faced with - or so he and the others believed - the threat that the people would get really, really mad. So, Mr. B. introduced the first social security system.

Let's break out a bottle of that vintage champagne and toast to the little guy.

Look at who made the most progress in the last one hundred years: the little guy.

We, the privileged, could already read and write for generations, had property and lawyers as well as lots of little guy armies to defend us against our greedy first or second cousin head of that state or this or that fiefdom.

The little guys learned to read and write and do math, and today manage to somehow find their way through a maze of laws and contracts that would have driven Bavarian King Ludwig II into madness much earlier, had the monarch had to decipher the simplest of cell phone service contracts.

While we live according to that great - and thus probably false - motto of "let them eat bytes", it's the little guy who keeps us fed, safe, and ensures the lights are on.

Can you tell that one of the K-Landnews folks wanted to become a teacher or a firefighter?
Can you tell the author will write anything, as long as his deluded mind sees an opportunity for a pun or a joke last used in the stone age?