Dadaland

In Dadaland, a land of the future, the artists have successfully manipulated cultural climate change so that any human who wakes up one morning and declares, "Hey! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, my wife is cooking bacon! What a great day to go out and start a war!" will find that no matter what he does, war mysteriously never results. No plunder, no pillage, no carpet bombings, no rape of twelve year old girls in front of their parents, no torture, no nukes, no nothing. He goes to the shrink.

"Doc, I am frustrated. I want to be the next Hitler, the next Pol Pot, the next Napoleon, the next Mao Tse Tung. What am I doing wrong?"

The shrink convinces him that he might consider becoming a successful vacuum cleaner salesman like neo-Nazi leader David Duke.

The International Dada Centennial Committee speculates about whether artists will try to blend in with the populace so that no frustrated vacuum cleaner salesman comes to the door, looks around as he makes his spiel, notices paint, easel, and the smell of turpentine, and detonates the suicide bomb hidden inside his sales kit.

"Take that, you...you... you ARTIST!" he screams as he flips the switch. Pieces of vacuum cleaner salesman, artist, arty wife, arty children, arty dog, arty furniture, organic food, tubes of sugar free toothpaste, tubes of paint, all go flying through the shattered walls and out into the neighborhood.

Artists in Dadaland may be well advised to not use oil paint, since the smell of turpentine is a dead giveaway. Also they may be well advised to live somewhere so remote that vacuum cleaner salesmen are unlikely to come. Do not, however dream of Jehovah's Witnesses also being unlikely to come. Rest assured that there is no such place in the Solar System.