Blame

If a woman burns her thighs on the hot coffee she was holding in her lap while driving, she blames the restaurant.

If your teen-age son kills himself, you blame the rock 'n' roll music or musician he liked.

If you smoke three packs a day for 40 years and die of lung cancer, your family blames the tobacco company.

If your daughter gets pregnant by the football captain, you blame the school for poor sex education.

If your neighbor crashes into a tree while driving home drunk, you blame the bartender.

If your cousin gets AIDS because the needle he used to shoot up with heroin was dirty, you blame the government for not providing clean ones.

If your grandchildren are brats without manners, you blame television.

If your friend is shot by a deranged madman, you blame the gun manufacturer.

And if a crazed person breaks into the cockpit and tries to kill the pilots at 35,000 feet, and the passengers kill him instead, the mother of the deceased blames the airline.

I must have lived too long to understand the world as it is. So if I die while my old, wrinkled butt is parked in front of this computer, I want you to blame Bill Gates, okay?