Iowahawk is one of the funniest satirists alive. I have been his fan since before either of us was a blogger. We have even broken bread together. Thus I am chagrinned to have missed until now his laugh—out—loud hilarious piece on the agonies of coastal parents living in trendy zip codes discovering that their children have been attracted to the dark side, the forbidden realm, and have taken to wearing trucker's caps, listening to country music, and going to livestock shows.

The tone is letter—perfect, and the examples chosen to breathlessly illustrate the dilemma of the elitists will crack you up. An excerpt:

"It was one day last spring," says Ellen McCormack. "My life partner Carol and I were in the garage, working on a giant Donald Rumsfeld papier mache head for the Bay Area March Against the War, when Rain walked by. I thought he looked kind of strange, so I stopped him and looked closely into his eyes. Then I realized the truth —— he was wearing a mullet. I was shocked, but he swore to me that it was only ironic."

"After a few months, it was clear Rain had lied to us —— that hideous Kentucky waterfall was completely earnest," she adds, choking back sobs.

Her 18—year old son would soon exhibit other signs of disturbing changes.

"I was driving past a McDonalds one day last summer, and I thought I saw Rain's bike outside. He had told me earlier that he was going to a friend's house to stuff envelopes for the Dennis Kucinich campaign. I pulled a U—turn and headed back," she recalls. "When I confronted him in the parking lot, he started giving me a lame story about how he was only there to protest globalization, but I could smell the french fries on his breath."

McCormack says that Rain's erratic behavior would also come to include excessive politeness and deference.

"Everytime I tried to talk to him it was 'yes Momma,' and 'no Momma,' when he knows damn well my name is Ellen," she says, anger rising in her voice. "It was like I didn't even know him anymore."

McCormack tried an intervention with friends from the Anti—war community, but to no avail. In October, Bobby Ray packed up his Monte Carlo and left for basic training at Camp Pendleton.

"I have no son," she says in a barely audible whisper.

It is a perfect holiday treat.

Hat tip: John Derbyshire

Thomas Lifson  11 24 04