With apologies to the Weiner Almighty; forgive me, Weiner, for I have sinned, and yes, I owe you another apology for trying to cram “weiner” into the sentence
Still, though, it is unkind to give away the punch line. Then again … something about cosmic justice goes here. That is to say, if only ....
I mean, it was always a doctor, or a lawyer, or in the eighties an MBA or other special someone in finance, and even if one hasn’t a care in the world about who their daughters marry, look at what the rest of us have gotten from that stupid, greedy ownership culture.
No daughter of yours is going to marry a Negro? No son of yours is gonna be a queer? Tell us this: Now that your kids have fucked the whole of American society, are you proud of the social disease you passed along?
So while you fret about whether or not you own your kids’ sex lives or whatever, the rest of us will be over in the corner talking about something important. You know, like giving away the punch line.
Weiner, Zach. Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal. 11 February 2015.