I Never Believed In Fake News.

 

I'm sipping my coffee this morning and watching the neighbor kid sneak reps on his mom's Peloton. Like this kid actually got online and found out that these things kill children and he is doing exactly what he isn't suppose to and the shadowy figures of the parents are lurking somewhere in the distance. I can see the shifty fucks,  but they don't care that their kid is peddling on a deathtrap because the kid is annoying and has started to point out some of their glaring deficiencies and the throwing shit and the tantrums have started to eat into their remaining mental health capital reserves so let the little fucker Peloton his legs off. 

At first I felt like I was being traumatized by the mother doing her Pelaton like do those yoga pants come in another color or perhaps size or perhaps a fuller more window-treatment like silhouette? No? Then it just became sort of Rear Window in reverse and the Pelaton is strategically placed in front of a floor to ceiling window with not a single window shade in sight. Imagine spending that much on a condo, a dysfunctional kid with death wish and a Peloton and the very controversial subscription just to announce to the world you don't have enough left for custom blinds. LOL. New money. The pitfalls.

One could scarcely blame them. One of the key selling features of those condos, well the ones with  northern exposure anyway, is the stunning views of our much prettier much more architecturally significant building with custom (and matching) window treatments on each and every single window of the place. 

The building with the Peloton is such an out of character pile of a thing that it tends to illicit open mockery from everyone on the street. We have all been to every open house because whoever moves in we need to know who they are so when we have our yearly yard sale we can easily identify them and put them into contact with some throwaway piece of something that may go some way in making their home slightly less hideous. A small piece of tasteful linen or a set of old curtains perhaps. Something. Noblesse Oblige.

Of course you do that, and you give to the humane society and PETA and the symphony and the ballet and then the filthy peasants still go and put a fucking Peloton in front of their mother fucking bare-ass window that faces your sitting room.

The lack of gratitude is breathtaking.