By Christopher Buckley
BOOMSDAY'S heroine is Cassandra Devine, a charismatic 29-year-old blogger who incites gigantic political turmoil whilst, outraged over mounting Social defense debt, she courteously means that child Boomers accept govt incentives to kill themselves by means of age seventy five. Her modest notion catches hearth with thousands of her outraged friends ("Generation Whatever") and an formidable Senator looking to achieve the adolescence vote in his presidential crusade.
With the aid of Washington's maximum spin health care professional, the blogger and the baby-kisser try and journey the difficulty of euthanasia for Boomers (they name it "Transitioning") the entire strategy to the White condominium, over the forceful objections of the non secular correct and, in fact, child Boomers, who're deeply angry via demonstrations at the golfing classes in their retirement hotels.
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She became a pillar of Boston society, dowager and standard-bearer of the long Jepperson line. Such were the strands of Randolph K. Jepperson IV’s DNA. Whatever skeletons rattled about in the family closet—or foyer, for that matter—Randy had a sunny disposition, though in times of stress he sometimes made a low humming noise that sounded like Mmmmmmm. ” Randy went to Harvard. He studied hard, got good grades, and was popular, especially with women, owing to his good looks and easy laughter. The Porsche convertible and cigarette boat he kept at a marina on the Charles River didn’t hurt, either, along with the picnic hampers packed with Champagne, foie gras, and the very best Moroccan hashish.
Captain Drimpilski was in his late thirties, with thinning hair and thickening waist. He, too, had entered the army with dreams of rappelling from Blackhawks into fields of fire, only to find himself plucked by the invisible hand and dropped into fields of paper. His single triumph over this adversity was that he had not (yet, anyway) become so embittered as to make life intolerable for those under him. He liked Corporal Cohane. She was efficient, good-natured, and easy—very easy—on the eyes. He was, of course, physically attracted.
Touché, Corporal. Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do or die. Onward rode the six hundred. Had to memorize that at Groton. Suppose these days they have you memorize Maya Angelou. ” “You don’t sound very liberal. ” “On paper I’m pretty pink. My ADA rating is through the roof. But I know what you mean. ” “No, thank you. It’s a good thing you didn’t do that back there. ” “Recited it once during a late night filibuster to block a school lunch cutback. I can do ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee,’ too.
Boomsday by Christopher Buckley