Dead: Very Nearly an Accurate Descriptor of a 16 Year Old White Male Who May or May Not Live with Me.
My patience waxes and wanes. The person trying my patience, and the needling actions they are using in their desperate attempt to join the church triumphant at my hand, can have the most marked and profound impact on the resilience of said patience. Sadly, every once and awhile, I am reduced to a pitiable state, in which my only concentration is regaining my composure.
(Hypothetical Example)
I am sitting in a comfortable chair. I am reading Aristotle, just like any other good little boy with intellectual pretensions. I am starting to hit my stride in reading and I am totally relaxed.
Now imagine(ya know, hypothetical like) that a Hun, sitting not three feet away, tearing into who knows what, started making the most disgusting noises as he masticated; a full sound and picture show. Imagine that my concentration was broken and that my stomach was now turning over.
Naturally, my first thought was to reach across and strangle the barbarian. I think it was probably good that I, hypothetically, managed to quash that urge...but it wasn't easy. Even if I reminded myself that the Hun had been working very hard tonight, there was still a part of me that wanted to send him to The Father, or, perhaps even better, to cotillion. Hypothetically.
This is one such place where I might need my faculties to keep composure. The example really isn't bad enough. It never let's the reader know that the hun should know better, and also, the writer knows the hun knows better.
(Here Endeth Example)
The heinous peccadillo of chewing with the mouth open is perhaps the one table faux pas that merits capital punishment, which on rare occasion I come a bit close to doling out. I am afraid that it also moves me to thoughts of contempt with great ease.
The Hun was lucky, hypothetically, that he was halfway up the stairs before delivering one of his tonally perfected belches, which would have necessitated an immediate and artistic end to our acquaintance. Hypothetically.
The moral is probably something about being polite and chewing with your mouth shut...that, or just something about keeping an eye on the tired brother with a book of philosophy and a flying fuse.
(Hypothetical Example)
I am sitting in a comfortable chair. I am reading Aristotle, just like any other good little boy with intellectual pretensions. I am starting to hit my stride in reading and I am totally relaxed.
Now imagine(ya know, hypothetical like) that a Hun, sitting not three feet away, tearing into who knows what, started making the most disgusting noises as he masticated; a full sound and picture show. Imagine that my concentration was broken and that my stomach was now turning over.
Naturally, my first thought was to reach across and strangle the barbarian. I think it was probably good that I, hypothetically, managed to quash that urge...but it wasn't easy. Even if I reminded myself that the Hun had been working very hard tonight, there was still a part of me that wanted to send him to The Father, or, perhaps even better, to cotillion. Hypothetically.
This is one such place where I might need my faculties to keep composure. The example really isn't bad enough. It never let's the reader know that the hun should know better, and also, the writer knows the hun knows better.
(Here Endeth Example)
The heinous peccadillo of chewing with the mouth open is perhaps the one table faux pas that merits capital punishment, which on rare occasion I come a bit close to doling out. I am afraid that it also moves me to thoughts of contempt with great ease.
The Hun was lucky, hypothetically, that he was halfway up the stairs before delivering one of his tonally perfected belches, which would have necessitated an immediate and artistic end to our acquaintance. Hypothetically.
The moral is probably something about being polite and chewing with your mouth shut...that, or just something about keeping an eye on the tired brother with a book of philosophy and a flying fuse.
*cackle*
ReplyDeleteEven if I reminded myself that the Hun had been working very hard tonight, there was still a part of me that wanted to send him to The Father, or, perhaps even better, to cotillion. Hypothetically.
ReplyDelete*double plus cackle*
*triple cackle*
ReplyDelete*double plus triple cackle with perhaps a little tonally perfected belch*
ReplyDelete