We're on the same page about who you and I are; you live in a world that has long since vanquished male pattern baldness --so I no longer have the great-hair cachet that I once did. Everyone now has the hair of a twelve-year-old, I suppose...
My popularity among you owes more to my spot-on, insightful analysis of the madness of my age.
We're in World War Three now, or so says Newt Gringrich's latest talking point. This is actually a good thing, you see, because once everyone knows that it's the end of the world, we'll finally get rid of those annoying stumbling blocks to total governmental control: Antiquated notions of lawful government, human decency, and the right to be secure in your own asshole's inviolability.
Oh, sure, for a protracted time the peoples of the world went along with the ruse that "war just happens." When the bombs went off, they looked in the direction of the pointed finger.
Then you got smart. You realized that government was the source of all your woes. You saw that allowing someone to arrogate unto himself the duty of protecting you invited only more bombs, because you could be counted on to demand more protection with each successive explosion. But by this time, the parasitic interests that control government had erected a police and surveillance state that made it impossible for you to abolish the government that had become a hindrance to your prosperity.
Then the space aliens came down. And it was AssBanana People Killing Day. Oh, the carnage was a sight to behold... The gutters verily overflowed with AssBanana People blood and guts and the occasional brains. You had to pay lots of overtime to keep the gutters clean.
And the space aliens taught you to immediately beat senseless anyone who said it was World War Three --because such a person was up to no good. He only wanted to steal your money and freedom in the guise of protecting you.