Subscribe"Green acres is the place to be
Farm living is the life for me
Land spreading out,
so far and wide
Keep Manhattan,
just give me that countryside.
New York
is where I'd rather stay
I get allergic smelling hay
I just adore a penthouse view
Darling, I love you,
but give me Park Avenue.
The Chores.
The Stores.
Fresh air.
Times Square.
You are my wife. Goodbye city life.
Green Acres, we are there!"
In between the Lower Class and the Middle Class, there's a Banging Class. The Banging Class has enough money to afford stereos, electric scooters, motorcycles, riced-up Hondas, and all the other modern noisemakers. But the Banging Class is too stupid--I say that objectively--to know how to appropriately use those crashing, cracking, thumping, whining, rumbling gadgets. The Banging Class can't imagine its effect on a group containing eight million members, so it acts as if it has none. The Banging Class likes the sound of the peel out, the booming bass, the revved engine. The Banging Class likes to put the gas pedal to the floor for a short street block, and then slam on the brakes at the stop light. The Banging Class jackhammers in the morning, but hardly make a noise the rest of the day. If anything has to be banged, the Banging Class bangs it when you're at home. The Banging Class never sets a thing down, it lets it drop: boxes, barrels, trash cans, dumpsters, cellar doors, tailgates, lumber, metal beams, anything. The Banging Class never met a door it wouldn't rather slam. The Banging Class likes to yell across open spaces, talk in dark movie theatres, shout into cell phones, talk to fill silence. The Banging Class listens to its voicemail on speakerphone, whistles aimlessly, chews with its mouth open, comes home from the bar drunk and screaming just before dawn. The Banging Class doesn't know when to shut up.
posted by RavinDave at 4:38 AM on September 4, 2007