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I was reading U.S. motor-vehicle crash statistics on New Year’s Day—because that’s the kind of three-ring monkey-yammering festival of excitement my life has become—when I was floored by two facts. First, I had misplaced my drink, only to find it being consumed by my 18-pound cat, Teddy Roosevelt. Second, U.S. drivers crash approximately 5.6 million times per year. Given our population of 322 million, that means 1.7 percent of our number apparently require further eye-hand coordination or English-reading skills or cautionary tales about dwelling in O’Cleary’s until last call, which is another way to lose your drink. Of course, I’ve known folks who crash multiple times per year—the Busch brothers, for instance, or any NFL player at all—which means that statistically fewer of us are actually devoted to driving 200 feet backward through a fruit stand on Boca Vista Boulevard. But, I mean, seriously folks, if 5.6 million of us crashed, say, our Easy Climber stair lifts, there’d be God’s own Congressional hearing chaired by Clarence Ditlow and three Barbary apes. READ MORE ››

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Amen