The Transparent Ironist Goes Ethnic

Here is my up-to-date version, or remix, if you like, of Bob Dylan's ballad, 'How Many Times...?'

How many books must a man pretend to understand
Before he can be sold as intellectual?
Yes, 'n' how many diets must a woman survive
Before she can be bought as sexual?

How many weeks must you change your jeans labels
Before you can be appreciated as fashionable?
Yes, 'n' how many stones must you throw at Starbucks
To salve your conscience for Africa's miserable?

The answer, my friend, does not blow in the wind
The dead wind speaks to us no more
All we have in this darkness are flickering lights
Intimations of a land on the distant shore.

How many blasphemies must an atheist utter
Before he is acknowledged as really academic?
Yes, 'n' how many denunciations must the pious throw
Before they are certified as truly salvific?

How many CDs of the latest RnB must you buy
Until you are endorsed as firmly progressive?
Yes, 'n' how many Mozart concerts must you avoid
To prove that classical music is definitively regressive?

The answer, my friend, does not blow in the wind
The dead wind speaks to us no more
All we have in this darkness are flickering lights
Intimations of a land on the distant shore.

How many evenings must you shut yourself in your room
To establish the supremacy of your personal freedom?
Yes, 'n' how many cigarettes must you smoke with your coffee
To relieve yourself from the subsequent boredom?

How long must you grow your polished hair
To manifest your deep seething anarchy?
Yes, 'n' how often must you retreat to the jacuzzi
To escape from your unspoken hidden agony?

The answer, my friend, does not blow in the wind
The dead wind speaks to us no more
All we have in this darkness are flickering lights
Intimations of a land on the distant shore.

How many politically-correct terms must you master
Before nobody can brand you a bloody racist?
Yes, 'n' how many slurs must you cast upon America
Until you are ratified as a true-blood Maoist?

How many times must you declare that Truth is dead
Before you are praised as sophisticated?
Yes, 'n' how many times must you play with your words
Before you are celebrated as educated?

The answer, my friend, does not blow in the wind
The dead wind speaks to us no more
All we have in this darkness are flickering lights
Intimations of a land on the distant shore.

How many sessions of yoga must you patiently endure
Before everyone recognises you as spiritual?
Yes, 'n' how many religions must you damn as superstitious
Before your friends welcome you as liberal?

How many times must you scream on a megaphone
That individual choice is the highest euphoria?
Yes, 'n' how many times must you contradict yourself
Until you go ahead and legalise euthanasia?

The answer, my friend, does not blow in the wind
The dead wind speaks to us no more
All we have in this darkness are flickering lights
Intimations of a land on the distant shore.