The recent (forked tongue in sunken cheek?) essay written by an anonymous TARP wife in Conde Nast's Portfolio now has a sequel, copied from among graffiti on a Long Island Expressway underpass:
A TARP wife whines, part deux:
" The tent rattles every time the wind blows.
The combination lock tore a hole in the tarp when our neighbors tried to break in and steal our macaroni and cheese “comfort food”.
The laundry line at the fire hydrant makes clothes washing an all-day proposition.
The bath line at the fire hydrant makes bathing a once-a-month proposition.
The line at the latrine helps me stay on track with my daily Kegel exercises.
In case of emergency, my husband’s old motorcycle helmet makes a great chamber pot.
I can’t tell if my husband’s hair is grayer because he’s only home between 12 and 4 am from his three jobs and the flashlight needs batteries.
My daughter wants to go back to school, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that the last teacher was laid off two weeks ago. I am able to home-school her using cast-off classifieds, but her yr. expr. has made her splling sklls suck.
I have to be very careful when shopping that I’m not seen carrying out bags of goods from the grocery store. Security guards will ‘talk’ if they catch me shoplifting.
We go out to dinner almost every night. The campfire half a block away is the only place I can cook the macaroni and cheese.
I threw a birthday party for my husband with our family and Leroy from the storm drain. Miguel, the night manager at Mickey D’s, fished out a few of the uneaten chicken nuggets and fries from the bin and comped us 4 mini-cones. Harcourt was so grateful he stayed for an extra hour to sweep up.
I’m so grateful I don’t have to let out my clothes. Now that we can’t afford low-calorie healthy foods, we only buy high calorie carb and trans-fat laden snacks. Fortunately, we can’t afford to buy enough of those to get fat. And between trips to the campfire, fire hydrant, and latrine, we’re getting our workouts every single day.
We still hate Alan Greenspan.
Well, I can’t really complain—there are so many people out there without a roof over their heads or a latrine to piss in. Imagine how tough it would be if we didn’t have Harcourt’s Harvard MBA. We’d have to use a corncob for toilet paper."