We call people up to find out how we are doing. We ask them first so as to not seem insane but what we want to know is how we are. Not feeling well? Hell, how sick are you? I’m feeling better already. Marriage trouble? My husband’s more handsome with every detail. Your mother again? Glad mine’s dead.
We assume a zero sum world of misery. If you feel worse I must feel better. If you are out of luck mine’s just come in. If we are both down then we are a team against the world of friends who dare to enjoy these times.
Parties should be called comparison contests. Men talk vaguely about their jobs, cars and kids measuring their peckers against neighbors and kin. Women wear status and complement décor with inflection that tickles a nipple or pinches it.
Don’t read the paper when you are depressed. It will be too much fun. Celebrities’ miseries are our bounty. Envy avenged. Super models look like crap on Monday mornings. Some even get fat after having kids. Adonis actors slapped with paternity suits. Titans of industry and politics caught with working whores.
What more could you ask for?
Don Arrup
Satire1
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