Die, Spy

How delightful! How charming! You and your mini-khaki’d kindergarten Einstein are indulging in a loud, endless, rousing round of “I Spy” on the M5 this morning! You spy a green car and a red car. He spies a black dog. You spy yellow flowers. He spies a pigeon. You spy a big tree. He spies a big tree, too!
I want you to ask what I spy. I pray you do. I’ll tell you I spy an overbearing, nasal-voiced, crooked-toed, flabby-assed, monster-faced Upper West Side matron overindulging her dimwit, cross-eyed five-year-old who already looks and sounds like an irritating nebbish.

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