MOSUL, Iraq — Grumbling indiscernibly and exchanging telling glares, local parents Hamza and Fatima Abadi expressed for the thousandth time their desire for the household’s resident couch potato to “go out and do something already.”
“Maybe join ISIS,” Hamza added.
“He hasn’t moved in seven hours,” says Fatima, whose unconditional, maternal love died long ago, sources report. “I’m certain he fell asleep on the couch last night as well.”
Antwan Abadi, indeed, has not vacated the sofa since supper the night before, as evinced by a scattering of Hot Pockets® wrappers and an empty plate littered with falafel crumbs. The firstborn heir, once the strongest gamete to brave the gauntlet of conception, succumbed to the rigors of virtual combat in the early hours of the morning, having “schooled many nOObs in the art of war.”
The portly progeny, who both parents readily admit never held much promise to begin with, is currently engrossed in an episode of Storage Wars and utterly oblivious to the overt display of frustration concerning his crippling sloth.
“He gets this from your father,” Fatima loudly accuses her husband, well within earshot of their idle issue.
“Antwan! It’s been two years since your younger brother was martyred by the infidels’ drones, and yet, here you are!” she chastises in the way only mothers can. “Go outside!”
Electing a softer approach, Hamza edges towards the television screen, futilely vying for his son’s attention.
“You know, son, I hear the Islamic State is recruiting,” Hamza subtly suggests to his eldest spawn, who absently nods in agreement, craning his neck with a superhuman effort to circumvent the paternal obstruction.
An indifferent silence ensues.
“Son, for the love of Allah, get off the sofa and make use of the life your father and I gave you,” the worn mother pleads with the 29 year-old mistake, crow’s feet betraying silent tears of despondence.
“Okay, mom, fine, I’ll go tomorrow,” the man-child relents, before asking, “What’s for dinner? I’m hungry.”
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