The Boor IP

“As Oscar Wilde once said, ‘Give a man an inch and and he’ll want all seven!’”

“Patrick!” said his mother, “Oscar Wilde never said that and you know it!”

“And stop that kind of talk at the dinner table!” said his father, “It’s Thanksgiving for crying out loud. Can’t we get together at least once a year without some hideous thing coming out of your mouth?”

“That sounds like something Walt Whitman’s father once said to HIM,” said Patrick.

“Oh, please,” said his sister Lucy.

“Will the soberest among you please pass the wine,” said Patrick. “I don’t want to miss a drop.”

“You’ve had enough, Patrick,” said his brother Jonathan. “Maybe you should take a nap.”

Patrick reached for the flask in his dinner jacket pocket and poured a tall whiskey into his wine glass.”

“You are so fucking pathetic,” said Lucy. “I mean fuck, really?”

“Nice potty mouth,” said Patrick. “Is that what they teach you at Dartmouth?”

Patrick sat still, trying to hold his tongue and make some sense as to why they insist on doing this every year when they know it always turns out the same.

Patrick is a failed med student who now sells used books out of a cozy shop in the East Village. Having inherited a small fortune from his doting grandfather, Patrick has had little enthusiasm to accomplish much of anything.

His book shop makes no money and is frequented by suspicious looking neighborhood types who bring their own coffee and spend the day snoozing on stools that are scattered about the shop.

Patrick bought the building in the East Village after dropping out of school. He opened up the book shop and renovated the apartment above and has not had a sober day since.

“How is that Dartmouth thing working out for you, Sis?” said Patrick. “Journalism, right?”

“I graduated Dartmouth six years ago, Patrick,” said Lucy. “For heaven’s sake did you read ANY of my letters? I have my own column in the Daily Press and, yes, it’s working out just fine.“

“The Daily Press!” said Patrick. “That right-wing rag? Are you fucking serious? What happened to all those values of yours?”

“Leave her alone, Patrick,” said Jonathan. “At least she’s made something of her life.”

“Ah,” said Patrick. “The kid brother in his suit of armor, prepared to do battle with his dragon of a brother. What’s your gig these days, little brother? Dental school, right? Pull any bad teeth lately.”

“Oh, just fuck off!” said Jonathan. “This is fucking impossible and I don’t know why we have to invite him every goddamn year and listen to this crap! Come on, Lucy, let’s go for a long walk and leave this hyena to wallow in his own stinking shit!”

“Wait," said his father, “We could all use some fresh air."

“Don’t wait up for us, Patrick," said his mother.
“And please don’t fall asleep in the chair. You looked so foolish last year."

After the door slammed shut Patrick sipped at his whiskey and waited for the warm sleep inducing glow. He did not have long to wait.