Precious children

Goddamn children. Insufferable children. Sometimes I wonder: “I used to be their age… Was I ever this terrible?” No – no I wasn’t. Sure, as young bosses my big brother, RJ, and I concocted our due share of tumult, but we always maintained an internal barometer for “ok you’re just being an asshole now” which would prompt us to suppress our tantrums before we reached nuclear-level rambunction. These little dudes and chicks out here now have no such gauge.

On everything, there is a little piece of shit, kicking the back of my airplane seat right now. Her dad said to her, “We don’t do that, honey” once or twice and then just gave up. But if I turn and say something I’m the ragey black guy. That brings me to what, in all honesty, is the real heart of the issue: a lot of these parents are soft. It’s not even about the whole ‘to ass-whoop or not to whoop ass’ question; I’m distilling it all the way down to that fluty, bass-less sugar tone y’all are using to discipline them. Why do so many dads sound like Frodo Baggins when teaching their kids right from wrong? These kids are raw! These little thugs aren’t going to respond to that bullshit. I talk to children straight up – full bass, like a grown human man. Sure, they may cry a little but they need that. They need that anguish because ‘life is hard, little ninja; get used to it.’ But what do we get instead? …A damned pygmy riot, running through the airport or through the produce department grabbing what’s clearly the most perilously situated orange at the bottom of the citrus pyramid and cackling nefariously at the avalanche. You better believe had those parents infused a healthy level of sorrow into their parenting, these little jerks would be thinking twice about the consequences of their behavior.

But, as inept as these parents are, this isn’t about the cause; it’s about the product. Is there anything more disturbing than a horde of children, infesting our streets and hallways, plague-like in their breadth? If you see such a rolling storm headed in your direction you best change course, lest you be consumed in its eye – its lightning: a strobe of light-up, athletic footwear; its thunder: a whirring cacophony of horse-shit conversation. Have you ever really listened to a group of children? It’s just noise!… yelling indecipherable sounds – a word or two splashed in every now and then for flavor, but mostly just pitched nonsense for the singular self-indulgence of hearing one’s own voice. Or perhaps I’m the fool and these diabolical miscreants have curated their own language – a perversion of traditional discourse being used to covertly plot our demise. Hyperbole aside, these dregs will be the fall of civilization as we know it. Believe that.

Just for the sake of being thoroughly deplorable, children are also out-of-control-filthy – just caked with soil and snot and sweat and pudding, forming some kind of unearthly sludge, ridden with bacteria. They’re an army of waddling biological weapons. I love my nephew, Braylon, with all my heart and soul. If anyone tries to harm or slander he, or any of my miniature family/extended-family members, I will spare no expense on your head. And his parents are fantastic – there’s just no keeping up with that level of filth production expertise. Tissues, wipes, soap, diapers: only mere annoyances – swiping hands to Lebron James charging full-steam to the basket of undying muck. All they do is consume and leave their trail of waste wherever they roam. Their parents whisper “pick that up, honey” and, in turn, they look their parents in the eye with recognition and full comprehension, then brazenly go about their business as if to say: “pick it up your motherfucking self.” And they’re always sick; their little virginal immune systems have to catch every cold variety in existence so they can neglect to wash their hands, then touch all on your face and such. It’s just fucking inconsiderate.

So, what – we’re just supposed to give them a pass? …because they’re defenseless and underdeveloped and impressionable? …because, in some cases, they’re your own flesh and blood? Nah, B; it’s time to start holding these savages accountable. They know what they’re doing and, worse yet, they know that you think they don’t. You’re being taken advantage of because you are weak and they are opportunistic and malicious delinquents. These kids are out of pocket. The time to take back the streets has come.

One thought on “Precious children

  1. What an an unabashedly, brazenly, insiteful observation of the current state of familying.
    It sounds peculiarly like the movie “Frankenstein”.


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