While most of the country is running around wondering who is going to be our next president, I have much more weighty issues on my mind.  For instance -- what happened to the Wal-Mart lobster tank?  One day it was there, someone rearranged the store overnight, and now it’s gone.

The lobster tank was the one thing I could count on being in the same place every time I went for a visit.  Everything else was subject to change.  For example, just when I figured out where the pinto beans were, someone had the crazy idea to move them half way across the store to the automotive section.  One day the camping section was in the middle of the store next to the big screen TVs, and now it’s over by the cosmetics.  The only thing I’m thankful for is that I don’t have to walk through women’s lingerie to get to the tents and shotguns.  But the lobster tank?  It was always in the meat section in front of the pig’s feet and cow tongue.

All was right with the world as I watched those happy lobsters milling around at the bottom of the tank.  No wars were being fought, global warming was just a myth, and Paris Hilton was just an expensive hotel in France.  But the lobsters are gone now, and I’ve turned into a pathetic, introspective shell of a man.  And I hate being introspective because whenever I am, I find there's not much inside of me to be introspective about.  Yes, dear reader, it's absolutely true -- I'm about as deep as a tortilla, as shallow as a pizza pan, and as thoughtful as a bowl of Rocky Road ice cream.  (Hmmm!  This is making me hungry!)

Another heavyweight thought that has been on my mind lately is how I will spend the remaining years of my life.  What grand things will I accomplish?  What magnificent deeds will I perform?  How many Blue Coconut Cream Slushes will I buy from Sonic?  Will I spend my remaining years zombie-like, cruising through life on remote control, looking for lobsters in all the wrong places?  Or will I spend it with style and flare, catching the lobster by the tail and not wincing as it pinches my fingers off?  I don’t know.  And the reason I don’t know is because I don’t have a plan.  Therefore, in order to make every moment of my remaining life count, whether it be one year or 50, I have come up with a few ideas on what I’d like to accomplish during my last days on this planet.

First, I think I will buy a VW bus, let my hair grow long, and drive around singing protest songs.  I missed the 60s and feel cheated.  It's time for me to step up and put it to "the man."

Second, I’ll write the "great American novel" but only offer it for sale in China.  If they can send us poorly made, poorly designed, cheap, might-be-dangerous-to-our-children products, then they’ve got it coming to them.

Next, I think it would be best if I were to design a computer bug that would crash the entire internet, thus forcing our children to find better ways to entertain themselves than by seeing how many friends they have on Myspace and Facebook.  It’s time for them to leave their pseudo friends behind and make real ones like we had back in the day.

After that, I’ll apply for as many credit cards as I can, max them all out, and not worry about making the minimum payment.  Yes, the stock market will crash, businesses will fold, and the whole country will dive into a recession, but on the bright side, we’ll get to barter for what we need with chickens and warm, homemade apple pies.  If it was good enough for our great, great, grandparents, it’s good enough for us.

And finally, I will petition the CEO of Wal-Mart to bring back the lobster tank and stop the practice of shifting around products just to make us go hunting for them.  Change is bad.  Always knowing what aisle the potato chips are on is good.