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Wednesday. January 23. 4:34 PM. The voices on my lawn demand an answer. Bands of the Twitter faithful keep vigil and watch my chimney for white smoke. I don't blame them. For I have not yet given my opinion about Venezuela.
Through the curtains I see my countrymen holding signs. “Is Communism Bad?" and "Where is Venezuela?” In my foolishness I thought those were easy calls to make. I was wrong.
I close Wikipedia, don my fedora, slip on my Crocs, and look over at my wife. She knows what I must do. The people need me. They need a white man to explain Venezuela. I open the door and am blinded by camera flashes. I walk toward the lights...and into history.
