to try?" he all-but-screams, grinding the fingernails (dirt underneath them) of one hand into the recliner arm, grinding the fingernails (also dirty) of the other into an empty bag of Frito™-Lay's® Pork Rinds (patent pending
), utterly shredding it, without notice —
The stupid TV show with the black kids who are happy 'cuz the white people who adopt them are rich and nobody feels like a slave and everybody's got Zips™ sneakers and there's canned laughter, hahaha-HA! HA!
It grates on your nerves.
(It's like waiting by your "IN"-box — if you had a job, and weren't living on disability, soon to be cut to ribbons, thanks to Reagan — and you WERE. JUST. WAITING. FOR. A. SIGN.)
Finally, the commercials come:
- a shoe polish drama ("See?")
- dishwasher detergent ("Suds! It's . . . BENEFICIAL!")
- fast-food hamburger restaurant, near you, in case you forgot it. ("Flame broiled . . . for ACTUAL COOKED MEAT flavor!")
No advice about his dandruff problem.
Johann felt forlorn.
(no, really . . . that's the whole story!)