UnHOAXED: The Alaska Pipeline of Michigan

Given the intimidating girth of my intellect, you might doubt the feasibility of my submitting to an academic lecture. After all, you might reason, the last thing I need is to fill my brain (our planet's most valuable natural resource, renewable or otherwise) with the poorly considered drivel of lesser minds and mouths. Furthermore, you might think that my brain must be nearing its physical capacity for information storage. Surely a few more nuggets of knowledge will cause my brain matter to explode into vapor, instantly raising the IQs of anyone lucky enough to inhale the residue. Well, if that's what you're thinking, you have a lot to learn, my simple-minded friend.

On the first point, you underestimate my passion for unhoaxing the ridiculous notions of so-called experts. Exposing the falsehoods of snake oil salesmen gets my rocks off faster than looking at myself in one of the many mirrors in my house. On the second point, my brain is not bound by any natural law. Like the universe, it began with the explosion of all matter from a single point. Unlike the universe, my brain will never collapse back onto itself, destroying everything inside it.

And so it was that I recently found myself attending a lecture on the pathetic economic condition of the state of Michigan. The speaker rattled off a familiar list of factors allegedly contributing to Michigan's crappiness: the shrinkage and near collapse of the American automotive sector; the exodus of college-educated workers to more prosperous cities than Detroit; and the state's substantial divestment in K-12 education, a dreary indicator of things to come. As I listened, I started thinking about how brilliant I am. I pondered that reality for the rest of the lecture. After the speaker concluded, people began filing out of the building, but I remained immobile, entranced by my own intellectual prowess. I didn't move, sleep, eat, defacate, or even blink for weeks. I was terrified by the awesome powers of my own mind. It was truly a humbling experience; an intimate encounter with greatness.

Weeks later, I remembered what I had heard at the lecture. So many convenient explanations for Michigan's meteoric rise to the top of the world's shitlist. That's when it hit me: when everyone agrees, something is wrong, because some people are idiots, and idiots rarely get things right. I started wondering what really lies at the heart of Michigan's struggles. Who benefits from the smoke screen created by conventional theories about jobs, industries, and macroeconomic shifts that were decades in the making? Once I tell you, you'll kick yourself for being such a moron. Who is really to blame for Michigan's woes?

Tim Allen, the only real economic engine Michigan has ever known. (Sorry, Henry Ford.) Before you laugh at me -- which I do NOT recommend -- consider this: Tim Allen's hilarious sitcom "Home Improvement" was set in Detroit. The series ran from 1991 until 1999, when Detroit was widely regarded as the Paris of the Midwest. I remember it well, since I remember everything well. The streets were paved with gold, money grew on special trees (called "money trees" informally, though the scientific term was considerably more complex), and Detroiters were the envy of the world.

"Home Improvement" beamed visions of this utopia to every man, woman, child, and neer-do-well with a television set. Detroit became synonymous with the American dream: a house full of gay sons, Pamela Anderson's boobs slapping you in the face every time you turn around at work, and neighborly Wilson just over the fence solving all your problems (except the problem of wanting to see his face and never being able to!). Tragically, like Leonardo DiCaprio's prized beach depicted in the movie "The Beach," Detroit's perfection could not survive the curiosity of outsiders. Also like Leonardo DiCaprio in "The Beach," many of Detroit's residents turned to hallucinogenic video game fantasies to escape reality once they realized their good fortune would not last.

By 2000, "Home Improvement" had come to an end, and Detroit's luck had run out. American scientists discovered that SUVs caused a lethal combination of cancer, AIDS, and ebola. Japanese automaker Toyota began promising seventy-two virgins to everyone who bought a Prius. As domestic automakers struggled, Michigan's unemployment rate skyrocketed, and anxious residents looted major cities in their state, stripping gold from the streets and harvesting the prized money trees to make toilet paper. The proverbial well ran dry, and Tim Allen slithered back into his mansion like a snake, content to live the rest of his life on his "Home Improvement" earnings. Or so it seemed to the short-sighted pundits who are not me.

I saw the bigger picture. I recognized that as Tim Allen goes, so goes Michigan. Every time he makes a movie, he injects enough money into the Michigan economy to sustain entire cities for decades. In 2004, he starred in "Christmas With The Kranks," a hilarious holiday romp boasting a 5% approval rating on RottenTomatoes.com. That summer, the Detroit Pistons won their first NBA Championship in 14 years. What's the connection, you ask? I knew you would need me to connect the dots. Tim Allen gave the Pistons hope. Tim Allen is synonymous with Detroit. When the world sees him lighting up the silver screen with his dashing good looks and his Midwest charm, they say to themselves, "Whatever happened to that city on a hill, that bastion of hope, civility, and riches? Flint, Michigan!" Then they think of Detroit, which lives on in the dreams of ordinary Americans who yearn for a better place to call home, a better place to pretend that things will get better, as long as global warming kicks in and makes Michigan a tropical oasis.

And so this story ends on an optimistic note, since Tim Allen is certainly not done producing high-quality entertainment. Next year promises the release of "Toy Story 3." 2011's "Wild Hogs 2: Bachelor Ride" is sure to sell out theaters nationwide and breathe new life into a state still yearning for a handout from its biggest stars. We may have spilled the seeds to the money tree, but we've learned our lesson, and we have our eyes on a bigger prize now. Bring us your seed, Tim Allen. We won't waste a drop.