Meet the Barcas

Hannibal, the Carthaginian general, was one of the greatest threats to the Roman Empire in her 1300-year history. When Hannibal was six years old, his father, Hamicar Barca, forced him to swear vengeance against the Roman Empire for their arrogation of Sicily from the Carthaginians in the First Punic War. Little Hannibal later recalled this oath as an important turning point in his life, but at the time the Scourge of Rome’s future was far from certain. In fact, Mommy and Daddy Barca frequently argued about their son’s future. Miraculously, a friend of the court’s private record of one such argument survived for thousands of years on a piece of papyrus found in a particularly gossipy clerk’s grave. The following is a translation of the scroll:

Yesterday I went to the palace to confirm plans with the King for our upcoming slave-hunting trip. He had me wait in the corner of the room until the squawks issuing from the Queen died down.
“How can our son focus on his studies when you’re always dragging him outside to play Kill the Centurion?” she shouted.
“Now Marion, I thought we’d been over this: we want Han to be strong in mind and body. The boy needs exercise!” Hamilcar replied.
“Oh don’t give me that! You’ve got his future all planned out for him, don’t you?” And shifting her hips she began to count on her fingers, “First he’ll be on the U-8 prisoner-hunting team, at twelve it’ll be off to “Take Your Son to War Day” where you’ll be gone till Baal knows when! At sixteen he’ll move into the barracks like a good soldier and by eighteen the little brute won’t even remember how to use his abacus anymore!”
“Ah, yes! Take Your Son to War Day will be a great experience for the tyke! He can, uh, observe the engineers!”
“Wonderful, he can build bridges, knock down walls and catch a glimpse of Gaul schlong before he gets his head lopped off!”
“Oh you’re just being overprotective! Generals always have a bodyguard, anyway.”
“I thought he was going to be an engineer.”
“What did I say?”
“And if he wants to go to medical school? Or join the Peace Corps?”
“Aw gay! Why would he want to do that?”
“To create instead of destroy!”
“We’d be creating a new Carthage!” the Queen was about to speak again when the King quickly continued, “Yes and destroying Rome, but come on, Rome sucks.”
“Oh? You know Julia is a Roman.”
“Well Julia’s a slu—Ow! I mean Julia’s wonderful! Your friends are so…iiinteresting. But all those years ago, when our honor sank with our ships, I swore revenge against those usurping spaghetti-eaters!” Suddenly entering into an eerie trance, the King continued: “And someday, though I may be long dead, my son will rise up, and carried on the backs of our elephants, with Baal’s wind in our sails, I shall re-conquer the world!”
Bored, the Queen replied “I thought you were long dead.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Han is going to college, and after that he can pick a career for himself.”
“But after college he’ll be middle-aged already! And college is just for getting laid anyway. Let’s just have his consorts wear tweed and elbow pads. Or we could find some hot Philosophy majors. They’re always happy to be making the minimum wage.”
“True. But if he’s going to join the hunting team I also want him to join the recycling club so he learns social responsibility.”
“The only trash I want my son disposing of is that Cons-hole Fabius Licinus.”
“Well he’ll also be picking up Mr. Pibbius cans so get used to the idea.”
“No way. Do you know how much effort I put in to not enforcing immigration laws? Do you know why I put so much effort into ignoring the evangelicals? It’s so my son doesn’t have to do the work of Nubians!”
“And what’s that mean?”
“Wuh-oh! The PC police are here! It means Nubians pick up trash, my son kills Romans, and Jamaicans make those delicious meat pies. We’re all here for a reason Marion. I have work to do. We’ll talk later.” He then turned to me, said “In two days you shall meet me at dawn by my stables to come hunting with me” and marched back into his chamber.

Dear World,

For too long Jews have been shockingly under-represented in the world of comedy. Did you know that of the world's 13 million matzah-lovers, only 94% have found success in the entertainment industry? The remaining 6%, of course, failed to make it in show business and became doctors and CEO's as a last resort. Their mothers and rabbis were very disappointed, and in accordance with Jewish tradition, their foreskins were publicly reattached while they were forced to eat bologna on white with mayo.

I have therefore decided to make the best use of my BA in economics from Vassar College by becoming a comedy writer. This may surprise you, but let me explain. No, there is no time. Let me sum-up. Economics is about the distribution and consumption of scarce resources. It tries to balance the needs of “efficiency” vs. “equitability” (i.e. maximizing wealth vs. finding a “fair” distribution of wealth). In life, the most precious resource is time. I can either waste my finite supply of time in front of a computer screen in a fabric cube in a wicked ugly building to make a bunch of money for a boss who takes his anger out on me because he had his lunch knocked out of his hands one too many times as a tot…or I can sit in a Wi-Fi enabled park writing jokes about the Bible, Ben Affleck, and the hypothetical international trade ramifications of Africa’s relative labor abundance in conjunction with that continent’s lack of contract-enforcing institutions.

Just kidding—that last one is for the 6% of us who fail and have to move to Washington and work for Brookings.