Inspired in part by a recent post from Randy at Secular Franciscans, as well as an article on President Bush's twin daughters, I've been thinking about officially declaring myself a victim.

A victim of what? Well, I have so many choices. For instance, why chide myself for eating too much and exercising too little? It's really the fault of the fat gene, which predisposes me toward weight gain. And let's not forget the dastardly marketing practices of the fast food industry, brainwashing me into thinking that King Sizing for an additional 39 cents is healthy. See? Between the genetics of my own body and the marketing of megacorporations, I have no personal accountability. I'm a victim. Maybe I should go have another brownie.

The beauty of victimhood is: it's an equal opportunity copout. Have you murdered someone? Not to worry; you might be a victim of any number of maladies that forced you to this sad state. Perhaps you were abused as a child. Or you suffer from post traumatic stress disorder. Or you had a "gay panic" attack. Or, hey, here's the gene thing again. But whatever you do, please don't give any thought to personal responsibility, or agree to accept the consequences of your own decisions.

It's just not the American way.