(Going to Disney World? Don’t inhale.)
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Like most of you out there, I’m proud to be an American. But let’s face it — some days are better than others. And when it comes to the proud arena of shining accomplishments in American culture, this past week was … um … really lame.

To give you some perspective, these are last week’s high points:

• A geyser at Yellowstone National Park erupted, which is not news, and spewed decades of visitor-tossed trash, which is.
• Somebody has created a smartphone app that will let Californians document people relieving themselves in public.
• A Pacific hurriphoonclone sank an entire Hawaiian island, and environmentalists are afraid it might be damaged.
• An alleged Democrat mailed nine … no, ten … no, eleven … a bunch of identical pipe bombs to a bunch of identical Democrats.
• A world-renowned theme park has a new littering problem: human ashes.

Yes … in the endless quest for cultural excellence, I’m thinking we may have plateaued.

For starters, let’s look at the storm in Hawaii, quickly, before CNN figures out how to blame that on President Trump, too. According to the internet, an uppity Category Three hurricane named Walaka walloped a remote area called East Island and sank it, ignoring all the wildly gesturing weather purists who insisted it should be called a typhoon.

Apparently, East Island is part of a marine conservation area called Papahanaumokuakea (yes, spelled the way it’s usually spelled), leading some scientists to believe the weight of the name itself might have sunk the island. (Papahanaumokuakea is an ancient Polynesian term, loosely translated as “this is why we can’t have guest towels.”)

Local officials of the Papahanaumokuakea Marine National Monument (see guest towels) have reportedly gone on record as saying, “we won’t know the extent of the damage until we can get out there.”

Damage? It drowned. D’ya think?

Back on the mainland, the understandably edgy residents of San Francisco now have … ready? … SnapCrap: an iPhone app to help locals alert city officials that there’s a “cleanup on aisle five” problem. Believe it or not, some picky people are tired of dodging human fecal matter on their morning walk to the bakery.

Picky, picky, picky.

Some desperate realtors are prepared to blame the awful offal on the Bay Area’s massive homeless population, but that’s a bit hard. Don’t blame them; in The Tenderloin district’s soup kitchen, they may have gotten hold of some tainted seafood bisque. Others claim the excessive rump rubble is a side-effect of voters constantly having to put up with Nancy Pelosi. And, of course, CNN claims that President Trump systematically haunts the streets of Frisco, defecting at will. (CNN still can’t let that “Russian collusion” story go … it’s even affecting their spelling.)

So, the free SnapCrap app will let you take a picture of the, um, impromptu colon cleansing, and then it uses GPS (Gross Person’s Scat) to remind San Francisco city officials why they should move to another city.

And, if you’re wondering: yes. SnapCrap has its own cute “poot” emoji. Well, of course if does.

We won’t spend a lot of time on the pipe bomb story, because nothing got blown up except for the egos of some career Democrats, who then bragged about receiving a pipe bomb threat during an election year.

And lastly, there’s this — as if cotton candy weren’t bad enough, the grounds crew at Disney World has a new challenge: human ashes.

Whoever discovers these kinds of things has discovered that Disney World has become a favorite “scatter zone” for believing-in-magic-type mourners to spread the cremated remains of loved ones, particularly loved ones who like large talking rodents.

According to insiders, you’ll know the Ash Patrol has subtly dispatched another cremation vac if you overhear “HEPA cleanup” on a walkie-talkie. That directive releases a crew armed with an ultrafine HEPA (High Efficiency Particulate Air) industrial vacuum, effectively nullifying some Rust Belt senior’s last wishes. (“HEPA cleanup” is Disney groundskeeping crew code for the last rites shop vac, as opposed to “Code V” for vomit clean-up and “Code U,” which we’ll not get into here.)

One final (sorry) detail: the most popular ride for your Great-Uncle Wilbur’s final resting place? The Haunted Mansion.

RIP, Uncle Wilbur. Who knew you wanted to spend eternity with Eddie Murphy?