No matter how calamitous the state of the world, you can always count on this specimen to have her priorities and concerns completely out of whack. Sterilized ladle in hand, she's ready to spoon down the latest fear-mongering distraction-du-jour with a well-trained gusto while fiery, Hell-bound handbaskets of reality whizz by all around her. Almost always a denizen of some soulless suburban chipboard tract, the safety of removal has not quite materialized for her despite her dutiful adherence to the trappings and mindset of the North American whitebread lifestyle/fantasy. Perhaps overwhelmed by the size and complexity of the world, its violence and viciousness, the specimen focuses in on things directly within arm's reach and the small, often phantom-like things that threaten the illusionary coziness inside this zone. There is nothing she can do about genocide, but she can sure as heck get all hand-wring-y about bylaws and backyards. Or better yet, go shopping for molding.
Due to its seemingly harmless banality, it is easy to miss the fact that the Twister of Knickers is really a close cousin to the Great North American Redneck and its insidious ignorance-as-virtue mentality - a sort of middle-class hillbilly. And although their numbers are vast, there is much to suggest that the species may be on the brink of endangerment, that its dominance is quickly diminishing. At last, the nameless fear justified.