Mrs. K’s narrative is overwhelmingly sad. Her son is underperforming in school. Her son won’t listen to her. Her son is smoking pot. Her son doesn’t come home when he says he will. Her son would rather do anything than do what she tells him to do. Her son’s friends
It’s getting dark. Has the sun has been extinguished by an alien super-being who feeds on the energy of stars ending all life on this planet? Should we run shrieking in the streets knowing that there is no tomorrow? Should we hurl ourselves out of the window anticipating that in
“You have no idea how I’ve suffered. My son was the light of my eyes. He won every award in elementary school. I could show him off anywhere. He was such a pleasure. I was proud of his accomplishments. But now, he is lost to me. Lost. He is disrespectful,
Why do adolescents acquiesce to suggestions from their dumb-ass peers? Why will they do pretty much anything that their ignoramus classmates recommend and almost nothing that their more erudite parents suggest? In short, why are adolescents–there’s no way to put this politely–so staggeringly stupid? Don’t misunderstand: I know stupid. Stupid
My neighbor to the north is concerned that her adolescent son is always out riding his bike, that he does not devote any time to reading. My neighbor to the south is concerned that her adolescent son always has his face buried in a book, that he seldom gets any
The author assumes full responsibility for this newsletter containing explicit language which may be inappropriate for some readers, offensive to others. . Where do all the “f+ck you mom, it’s all your fault, you f+cking bitch, I hope you die” kids come from? There certainly are a lot of
During the day, Penelope knits a burial shroud for her father-in-law. As soon as the garment is finished, she will be forced to accept a marriage proposal from one of the unpleasant suitors who have been hanging around, drinking her husband’s wine, ogling her, and generally treating the place like
I know an old woman who swallowed a fly… My baby is still colicky after three months. He still does not sleep for more than two hours at a time. All the other mothers I chat with at the gym have babies who are sleeping through the night. Sometimes, I
The woman at the 72nd Street pay phone had strands of dirty tinfoil in her matted hair and an enormous collection of broken pieces of plastic in her rusty shopping cart. She turned to show me the enormous ring of keys in her hand, insisting that one of them would
This column will be just as helpful without the joke—equal parts old, offensive, and terrible—in the following paragraph:Having fasted for three days waiting in the snow, the woman is told by the disciples that she may finally speak to the great guru whom she has traveled half a world to
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