I bought a whoopie cushion the other day -- no, seriously -- and printed on the back of the package were the words: Made in China.

And since then I've been able to think of nothing but a small Chinese man, sweat pouring off him as he works a churning, dangerous machine, stamping out whoopie cushions in the darkest corner of a filthy factory. He's shaking his head, this man, slowly and in quiet amazement.

"Americans," he thinks. "Americans."