“People who don’t have money don’t understand the stress,” said Alan Dlugash, a partner at accounting firm Marks Paneth & Shron LLP in New York who specializes in financial planning for the wealthy. “Could you imagine what it’s like to say I got three kids in private school, I have to think about pulling them out? How do you do that?”—
“Middlesex County has grown up as the baby boomer middle and upper middle class children of Union county blue collar workers fled the Newark riots and urban blight. These liberal boomers are the locusts of NJ fleeing the land that they themselves destroyed. Even the ones that aren’t liberal in all aspects of their life are fully prepared to “go along to get along” in a liberal dominated world. They would never run the risk of incurring Leviathan’s wrath by standing up to it.”—
“One 73-year-old inmate stands by a gate most mornings, waiting for his long-dead mother to pick him up. Sometimes he refuses to shower, afraid of missing her. Mr. Evers coaxes him inside, telling him that his mother “wants you to shower before she gets here.”—
“Gold Coats get harassed and called snitches for seeming to side with prison officials and because of the perks they receive. In the dining hall, to help dementia patients who, as Mr. Burdick says, “start forgetting basic things like what is a spork for,” Gold Coats sit with them at special “slow eater” tables, where meals are allowed to stretch beyond the usual 10 to 12 minutes.”—
“Once they’re on the mission, Jed Eye hijacks the Hoopty and strands Morris and Ty on a deserted asteroid. After they are picked up by a little old lady who lusts after Ty, our heroes hail a space taxi and track Jed Eye to the planet Remula, where he has gone to retrieve his buried treasure. Jed Eye, who has the ability to change his shape, makes himself look like Morris and manages to capture Ty.”—Homeboys in Outer Space - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
“In Baby Moses, the player controls Miriam, Moses’ sister as she tries to save her brother from the Pharaoh’s decree that all male Hebrew children be killed. In order to do this, the player carries Moses from one end of the level to the other, in a manner quite similar to the way in which characters in Super Mario Bros. 2 carry vegetables. Moses can be thrown around without harming him, but enemies cannot be harmed in any way. The adversaries attempt to throw Moses into the Nile. If the player completes the level without Moses, the game says “Good work, but you forgot Baby Moses.” and the level must be restarted.”—Bible Adventures - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
“As a survivor of both the British and Canadian systems, I’ve peddled my fair share of Anglo-Canuck horror stories over the years. But it became obvious to me a while back that ObamaCare will be a health-care horror on a scale unknown to man.”—
“I did not have any good solid plans for the long-term—no bad plans either, no plans at all—and the lostness of that, compared with the clear ambitions of my friends (marriage, children, law school) sometimes shamed me. Other times in my mind I defended such a condition as morally and intellectually superior—my life was open and ready and free—but that did not make it any less lonely.”—Lorrie Moore, A Gate at the Stairs
“Woman-beating rage-broccoli Chris Brown lip-synced his single “Turn Up The Music” (without being threatened by Sir Elton John) and danced roughly as well as a third-rate Chicago footwork dancer. He ended his performance by back-flipping off the stage, though sadly not off the earth. He returned to the stage one or two or maybe eighteen times. It was one of the Grammys’ weirdest choices ever, since the person who almost unanimously invigorated R&B in a variety of ways last year was Drake, but his album came out after the September 30, 2011, cutoff point. So we got Chris Brown.”—Culture Desk: The Grammy Awards: Chris Brown Overload : The New Yorker
Not only did this make laugh out loud, but I read it aloud to my wife. (ROLTW?)
Really, it was this section that collapsed the whole thing:
In fact, the war correspondence he so longs to write—and he believes he is the only one who can write it—would be one of many, many voices escaping from occupied DS9 in the post Arab Spring networked news hivemind.
“As I watch everyone interact on the station, the lack of social media sticks out hugely to me simply because it is how so many of us interact with each other now—and especially over long distances. There is no hashtag for DS9 workers to tweet LOLSisko macros or talk to families back home.”—
People need to have a little more goddamn shame. They need to sit down and say, “Is this really ok, this literally retarded thing that I am writing?” And other people should have the decency to say, “You will embarrass yourself if you write why the fake future from 20 years ago does not match the fake future you now envision.”
“O’Grimacey is an Irish version of the more well-known Grimace character, a rotund, purple creature of uncertain origin. O’Grimacey is green, of course, and unlike the naked Grimace, he wears clothes: a vest with shamrocks on it and a top hat of the sort worn by leprechauns.”—
It was his birthday, and he should have been happier about it.
He just couldn’t help it, though.
He hated birthdays, especially his own. They made him think of death.
Waka wondered what he had done to deserve an entire day devoted to the celebration of his existence. He thought of all the children who had never even had one birthday party, and how much more they would appreciate it than he did.
The whole situation made him immensely unhappy.
He struggled to contain his emotions, but a stubborn tear had welled up in the corner of his eye and run down his cheek despite his best efforts. He would need to pull himself together before Gucci Mane and Gunplay showed up.
They were good friends, but their attempts to cheer him up would only make things worse. Gunplay always wanted to go out to clubs and talk to girls, and that was the last thing Waka needed. Gucci, though…
He paused, and sniffed once or twice as he reached for a tissue.
Gucci might understand.
Waka didn’t know for sure whether he would.
He clambered down onto the futon in his bedroom and reached for the DVD copy of No Country For Old Men that he always watched when he was sad. He put it into his laptop and waited.
No Country For Old Men always made him feel a little better. He liked to take the power cord from his computer and pretend it was Javier Bardem’s air compressor thing.
The movie was quiet, but engaging enough that Waka could fully immerse himself in it. He began to set aside his troubles as he listened to Tommy Lee Jones discuss milk.
Waka decided that he needed a glass of milk.
Just as he was getting up, however, the doorbell rang.
He knew it was his doorbell because the chimes played the melody from Hard in the Paint.
Sighing heavily and stuffing a wad of tissues into the pocket of his sweatpants, Waka paused the movie and made his way into the foyer.
He wiped his eyes with the hem of his 1017 Brick Squad t-shirt, took a deep breath to gather himself, and opened the front door.
There was Gucci Mane, holding a present with a big blue bow on it.
He was by himself.
Waka’s puffy, red eyes were hard for him to miss as he stepped inside.
“Is everything all right?” asked Gucci.
“It is now.”
Waka Flocka drew Gucci Mane into a tight embrace, burying his face in Gucci’s soft yellow sweater.
“Everything is all right now,” he replied.
Not all birthdays have to be bad, thought Waka as the two of them hugged and gently swayed underneath the muted lighting of his foyer.
They don’t all have to be bad.
The two rappers spent the rest of the evening getting high and watching reruns of Community.
“6) At the end of the halftime show, they displayed the words “World Peace.” They never, ever say “World Freedom,” do they? Never. (A point I make in a book to be published next month. Sometimes — not always, but sometimes — you could cut the tension between freedom and peace with a knife.)”—