Scoundrel Time

How It Ends: What Comes Next


For the light of heart: dancing cat emojis and Grumpy Cat GIFS.

For the TV-obsessive: war on North Korea.

For the New Year’s Resolutionist: lobster truffle mac n cheese at Dean and Deluca’s: I’ve always wanted to taste this. I don’t know how I’m supposed to react.

For the lonely: a recurring memory of that cute guy way back at the Women’s March, the one holding the sign that said, DOES MY PERIOD SCARE YOU?

For the New York Times addict: resigning oneself to Douthat and Brooks, a vodka mimosa in hand, humming the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

For the Salvation Army bucket guy: war on the homeless.

For the depressed: renewed prescriptions from the CVS-controlled pharmacy/world.

For the Horace Mann class mother: Blackberry-redemption machines. Waste not want not, I always say.

For the P.S. 81 class father: deciding which is worst: the dentist or the tax preparer.

For the Alzheimer’s patient who’s snuck into the movies at the former Lincoln Plaza: Maybe now my parents will pay attention to me.

For the newly-released from Rikers: Nothing’s changed. Damn!

For the Union divinity student: What the hell did we just live through?

For the F Train conductor: I don’t care what anybody says, I fucking BELONG to the fucking middle class.

For Black Lives Matter: Black Lives Matter.

For the Sutton Place dowager: reflecting: The first wife was nothing but Iron Curtain trash, the second was even less than that. Why was it ever a question?

For the NYU adjunct: the war on trans bodies.

For the Great Neck divorcee: a chance to finally burn all her Ivanka Trump dresses in a pile outside her condo. Take that, Lord and Taylor!

For the retired hospital janitor: a new password for

For the Women’s March grandmother: a chance to plant her hands on her granddaughter’s head and pray. I’ve always hated religion until now. Let us pray.