Rolling green fields, blue skies flecked with soft, white clouds, the smell of freshly cut grass in July — these are a few of a d-bag’s favorite things. But only if you can see them through the bay window of a McMansion being cooled to a barely tolerable 65 degrees. Sometimes it’s OK to look at them as they whiz by the windows of your Hummer. D-bags are not into being outside if it involves feet or exercise.
D-bags love nature, but only as it exists in advertisements for Dodge trucks, Archer Daniels Midland corporation, or Lonesome Dove reruns. Otherwise d-bags like their nature paved. But not too much! We still like the expanses of green between ribbons of gray! Nothing says d-bag like well watered and manicured lawns as far as the eye can see, preferably in a desert somewhere in Southern California, Nevada, New Mexico, or Arizona. Those green fields are our d-bag birthright as Americans. They are the promise given us by the Founders of life, liberty, and a little plot of earth (no less than six acres) with all the amenities of a city including indoor plumbing, air conditioning, satellite TV, a four car garage, and an in-ground pool in the back yard. This is why the Greatest Generation died fighting Nazis and Japs — so that each and every American can live like an absolute feudal lord on his little exurban fief.