Saturday, March 14, 2009

Cows and Call-Girls

Ah, the suburbs. Home to both the wealthy and the not-so-wealthy, but mostly.. the wealthy. But Do people actually enjoy living there? Well, surely it depends I suppose. The decision to reside in suburbia may be made for the right or wrong reason. Right being in the sense that they may adore New York City or Los Angeles, and therefore enjoy living in great proximity to these respective cities but not necessarily in them, yet they also may not want to completely isolate themselves from modern life as we know it and lice in a one-story red paint-chipped barn ranch bungalow where the cow (wandering upon their prairie-esque grass) has more teeth than their "neighbor" who lives 872 acres away. Now one may wonder, well, what is this "wrong" in deciding to live in lovely suburbia? None other than the fact that they think their family is just the darnest, swellest, most idyllic perfect family where both the kids are on the honor roll, the father is a religious holy figure at the local church, and the mother is a stay-at-home mother, who vacuums for pleasure. And but of course, since they are just oh so lovely and oh so peachy, they must live in the perfect little area where the biggest (known) conspiracy  is someone's lawn getting a dry patch behind their perfect white picket fence, right?
Ha. Maybe this family is only perfect on the outside. Maybe the father is going to a hotel for a ... erm "church retreat" when in reality he is downing Jose Cuervo with the bleached-blonde call-girls perched upon his lap while his wife cries to herself on her lovely perfect couch with the clear plastic cover that protects the paisley upholstery while her porcelain tea cup of searing hot secrets spill. 
Now, also on the coffee table are the pill canisters; the same ones that the kids steal from only so the pills can intoxicate their young brains while running through their young veins because their parents won't buy them a brand new Jaguar. Tear. 
This family is doomed the day they attend the open house and praise the paisley couch. Then their life will slip down the chrome drain of their Jacuzzi bathtub. And all for what? Pride? Because their ego is so high they could not be seen living elsewhere because nowhere else is quite good enough? Maybe it's dignity. Only some can answer, but their lives are slithering down that chrome drain into oblivion. Suburban life  is good for one thing: the brutal destruction of a perfect family by the weapon of corruption. 

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