I have a dream. It's a dream rooted deeply in American Pop Culture. It's a dream where spoiled white artists and spoiled black artists are free to embarrass themselves on MTV.

I have a dream. That one day, right here in the streets of Chicago, where parking meters have made all of us slaves, a man will be judged not by the content of his character, but by the coins in his pocket.

I have a dream today. 

Joe Wilson perfectly articulated the subtext of the Republican Party. "You Lie!"

You Lie about single-payer.

You Lie about death panels.

You Lie about mining disease for wealth.

I have no problem with Joe Wilson acting stupidly in a joint session of congress. 

I have no problem turning a chamber of decorum into a town hall of idiots. 

As a matter of fact, I have no problem putting aside pseudo-respect. 

I'm happy to replace dishonest debate with word bullets, and actual bullets. 

BANG! Bring it on. Take aim, you 2nd amendment sissies. I dare you. I double dog dare you. 

Batman liked to prance around in tights. Wonder Woman was the first ever super hero MILF. The Hulk had anger management issues. Spiderman was misunderstood, so action was his reward. The Greatest American Hero lost the manual to his costume, so he was a super hero klutz. Iron Man was a recovering addict, who, back in the day, liked to smoke crack with Robert Downey Jr. And now, making his super hero debut, there's me, Greg, who, from this day forward, shall forever be known as...The Green Helmet.

8:31 AM Wednesday, Mom texted: "I am so sad about the loss of Ted Kennedy. I voted for Bobby. I watched Ted atone for his sins."

I'm starting this blog on purpose with a sad note from Mom. Can't imagine what it would be like for her to lose a child to a gunman.

10:27 AM Wednesday, Joey texted: "86 Ted Kennedy." For those of you who don't know the restaurant business, 86 means "Gone, Done, Kaput."

My brother wasn't trying to be a smart-aleck. He was texting. He was using short hand to convey sadness. Honestly, the very next thing he said was this :(

Don't know how I would survive if I lost my brother to a gunman. The loss would be shattering. Watching my parents crumble would be unimaginable.

Teddy did this. He watched his brothers die at the hand of a gunman. He watched his parents crumble. Then he drove off a bridge. 

He took a life. But for some damn reason, the life he took wasn't his own. He made it to the surface. Teddy was re-born. Me, I wouldn't want a re-birth. Me, I'd want to drown.

But I'm selfish.

All week, I've been trying to write something meaningful about what Teddy meant to America. Like so many things in my life, I failed. I wrote. Hated it. Re-wrote. Hated it even more. Procrastinated by doing a blog about orgasms. Got turned on. Jerked off. Gave up on being meaningful.

3:43 PM Sunday, Dad wrote. It wasn't a text. It was Brutally Frank.

Let's switch the order of the 1^st and 2^nd Amendment. Let's declare open season on the unarmed.

I want to be clear to all of you 2^nd Amendment Sissies, just because you have the right to bear arms doesn't mean you have to bear arms. 

Showing up to a town hall meeting with the President of the United States of America packing a semi-automatic is like doing shots til you puke...in your 30's.

I get it, in the beginning, when you're finally old enough to have the right to get drunk, you want to see how far you can push it. But then you grow the hell up. You move past embarrassing your friends, bed spins and sleeping with losers. 

Actually, sleeping with losers never gets old.