Lindsay was just laughing out loud as she read the concluding chapter in Mark Driscoll's Radical Reformission. "Listen to this, I have to read this out loud," she said.
"This is the end of the book, and I'm supposed to go out with a bang, like the fireworks finale on the Fourth of July. But I'm sitting at home on a Saturday, which is supposed to be my day off, in my daddy chair drinking tea, wearing my pajamas, and trying, to no avail, to be profound. I am hoping that you will recommend this book to your friends and that I will become so important that I can do eccentric things like Prince and maybe one day change my name to a symbol because I have never liked the name Mark."
"Ha ha," I said. "That's pretty good."
"But here's the part that I was really laughing at."
"My kids are in the playroom running around like midget demons arguing over crackers and juice with all the intensity of opponents and advocates of the death penalty at a state-sponsored execution."
"Midget demons!" she said.
"Now that is hilarious," I said, as I scrubbed at a juice stain while picking up cracker fragments off the carpet.
2 comments:
I think the profound point of your previous entry becomes all the more imminent with this one.
"Honey, we are not normal People!"
My dear sir.
Your point is well taken. How dare you imply that we are not Normal People?
Only a duel will atone for this outrage.
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