They say people up in the Hollows are rugged individualists.

I guess this means we don’t run off and buy every damn thing the boob tube throws at us. We like to at least pretend we can sort through the dung heap of shoddy goods sold with hi tech ads telling us we can’t live without them, things we never knew we needed.

Or maybe we just can’t afford it.

‘Course this characteristic does not necessarily apply to our offspring, who may feel that a childhood of voluntary simplicity needs to be balanced by a young adulthood of indulgent consumption. Some of us never do outgrow the addiction to “Name Brands.” (Now that’s big business).

As my kids grow older, and the magic age of 18 looms nearer, thoughts of course turn to the draft. Both kinds; The War on terrorism draft, and draft beer. These two very important things in life are intimately related.

You see, at 18, kids are old enough to be plucked from their hometowns, given a few months training, handed guns, and sent far away—into a harsh environment where almost everyone wants to kill them. At 18 they can vote for who the leader of the Free World will be. They can pose naked on the World Wide Web. But the one thing they cannot do is get draft beer.

Is this a hollow thing? Or am I the only one who thinks this is hypocritical nonsense? If our society agrees that 21 is the sensible age to drink draft beer and operate dangerous machinery; then clearly, the age for a draft on terror can only be 21 as well.

Hope you appreciate it kids. Dad just bought you a few extra years. Thanks GW.

If you are for, or against, the war on terrorism draft, and drinking draft beer, you best get your ass in gear and speak up about it. Like yesterday.

And so I put it to you dear readers; the future of the Free World is in the hands of those 18 year olds. God Help us All.

These essays were written for entertainment purposes only. The views expressed herein do not necessarily reflect those of Vermont Soap, its employees, board of directors, our Web host, Web designer, the neighbors who live up the road; or any of the thousands of people who use our stuff. Originally published in edited form by Comic News. Many thanks to Seasoned Books, without which, life in the Holler may never have become a reality.