Posts Tagged ‘sarcasm’
Murphy, 37, forced his mouth into a thin smile before offering details of his wife’s goddamn perfect attitude. “She just shoved a load of unfolded laundry into my arms and said, ‘Here’s a little present,’ then stomped into the bedroom and closed the door,” he said, shaking his head. “Just goddamn perfect.”
The couple’s three children agreed with their father’s assessment. “Oh, yeah, Mom’s just greeeeat,” offered Ben, 16. “She’s just ALWAYS the sweetest, most supportive person. Like this morning, when I came downstairs for breakfast maybe thirty seconds later than I was supposed to because my sister had gone all prima ballerina in the bathroom as if she’s the only one who needs the place, and Mom’s all like, ‘Well, look who decided to join us! Alert the media!’ Yeah, I just LOVE that,” he added as he kicked the waste paper basket and scattered its contents across the den floor.
“So sweet of you to leave the rest of us to clean up your mess,” commented Lydia, 14. “Don’t mind us. We just live here too.”
As for her mother, Lydia praised Patricia’s habit of always making sure to include criticism of some sort in her remarks. “It’s simply wonderful to see my self-esteem and sense of security are paramount in Mom’s eyes,” she said with a saccharine smile. “I wouldn’t be the way I am without her comments complimenting my choice of wardrobe by remarking how strikingly similar it is to some primitive nudist tribal culture. Thanks, Mom.”
“Like you’re one to talk,” interjected Susie, 11. “Little Miss Backhanded Compliment here is complaining. That’s rich. As if you don’t specifically pick out clothes you know will upset her.”
“It’s so cute the way you call me little,” oozed Lydia. “I’ll remember that next time you’re begging to borrow my sweaters.”
Skip professed bemusement at his children’s tone. “I have no idea where they learned to talk like that,” he said with a smirk.
At press time, Patricia was wondering aloud who had the brilliant idea that their home would be a good place for a reporter and photojournalist to spend an afternoon asking intrusive questions.
Brooklyn, August 27 (AP) – The laws of physics were thought to make it impossible, but this afternoon, vehicles on a stretch of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway were clocked at a full 33 miles per hour.
At approximately 1 p.m., the westbound side of the roadway just beyond the Kosciuszco Bridge had cars and trucks moving at the highest speed ever recorded on a major Brooklyn thoroughfare, let alone the BQE, which was specifically designed by Robert Moses not to allow any vehicle to reach speeds in excess of 30 mph. Eyewitnesses alerted police cruisers, which used radar, to confirm the bystanders’ suspicions: at least one hundred vehicles attained speeds between 30 and 33 miles per hour for nearly eighty feet before again succumbing to congestion, potholes, confusing signage, worn out markings, glare from office tower windows, and a team of semi-trailers specifically tasked with taking up space in order to slow traffic.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” gushed Fishel Horowitz of nearby Boro Park, who travels along that route every weekday on the way to his jewelry store in Midtown Manhattan. “I got one look at the speedometer thingie and said to my carpool mate Moishe, ‘Moishe, you got to see this! Look at this!’ He barely had time to see the needle point past the thirty before we hit traffic again, but there it was, plain as day.”
Police spokesman Crowne Victoria told reporters that several officers had recorded radar speed readings in excess of the 30-mph plateau, indicating that the witnesses’ reports were correct. “This represents an exciting, and, at the same time, troubling development, a sign that the measures in place to keep the BQE crowded, miserable, and murderously frustrating may not be sufficient,” he said at a news conference.
Enoch Cain, a professor of Urban Planning at Columbia University, echoed police concerns, and added that according to his preliminary calculations, the odds of such an occurrence are longer than those of [New York Yankees third baseman] Alex Rodriguez becoming likable. “Really, we should see the Mets win the World Series six times in a row, starting this year, before we ever see traffic moving like that on the BQE.”
Previously, the highest speed reached by a vehicle on any of the outer borough roadways was a child’s Flexible Flyer sled coasting down an exit ramp of the Grand Central Parkway near Astoria, Queens, just after the blizzard of January 7, 1996. The sled, operated by then-ten-year-old Sumaya Khan, achieved a velocity of 27 miles per hour before encountering the powerful magnets under the road surface that keep cars from accelerating too much, lest their occupants get to their destination in a timely fashion.
Victoria noted that the NYPD has had a fleet of cruisers deployed around the clock just to prevent the expressway from becoming anything other than an unpleasant place to drive. “First of all, it was constructed in Brooklyn and Queens, which should already turn off anyone with a sense of aesthetics, or just plain sense. Add to that the fleets of vehicles specifically devoted to blocking, slowing, and endangering everyone. then you have the fact that it was built inland, not along the water, where there would have been plenty of room. And you have all the constant construction.”
Victoria did note that the continued success of the BQE interdiction policy rests on the population of Brooklyn and Queens remaining as clueless, masochistic, or some combination thereof, as it has always been. “Fortunately, we see no sign of that changing,” he said, pointing to Williamsburg residents who pay obscene amounts for coffee with pretentious names.
Thank you for leaving your fragile possessions in our home since last summer. At the time you said you’d get them within a month or two, but I know how things tend to get dragged out and inconveniently timed. That’s why I’m sure you’ll understand when I tell you there’s nothing remotely useful remaining from those boxes once my children began using the contents as playthings.
At first my wife and I were exceedingly diligent about keeping the kids out of the room where we’d stowed the boxes for you. That room doubles as my home office, so during significant portions of the day I had no problem preventing, for example, the two-year-old from trashing your cassette collection.
But as you clearly know, people have a way of letting their commitment slide. The room also serves as the kids’ library, and a few toys and games find their way in from time to time. So you will be pleased to know that as time went on, we had to worry about fewer and fewer mishaps involving your stuff.
It began in September, when the aforementioned toddler discovered that when one throws a cassette across the room, the plastic breaks and the magnetic tape spools unravel. I should have recorded the data for posterity, but unfortunately I forgot to note how many times the tape spanned the length of the room when completely undone. Foolishly, I neglected to compare the results of a sixty-minute tape to those of a ninety-minute tape, not to mention the relative lengths of those two Bon Jovi albums. What I can tell you is that twenty of your cassettes, broken, tangled and collected in a box, occupied about as much volume as two completely destroyed picture albums.
The albums appear to contain photos of a youthful Stu and some young women in the 14-17 range; in the last ten years your taste in women has clearly not changed much, but that is neither here nor there. My four-year-old, not content to let the two-year-old have all the fun, followed his lead in using your seashell collection to scratch, cut and otherwise mutilate every image and page in the albums. They then proceeded to jump on the shells, crushing them into unrecognizable bits of organic mineral matter. Also, my daughter cut her finger on one of the shards and the blood stained your books. Happily, you needn’t worry about the books, as the children later proceeded to tear them apart and fill the trash bin with the crumpled pages.
I know you must be worried that your breakable possessions might have harmed such delightful children, but be assured the seashell incident was the only one that resulted in any injury. To them, anyway: your playing cards clogged our toilet and your flatbed scanner made a terrific noise as it tumbled over the railing, down three floors and smashed all over the basement floor. Thank God no one was underneath at the time; the pieces flew everywhere. We’re still finding shards of plastic and glass these two months later.
We do still have the boxes for you. Despite the chaos and violence, those two cardboard cartons proved sturdier than anything they contained. You’re welcome to come by anytime to pick them up.
But I’m not holding my breath.