Question #11: “Does It Bother You That My Child Won’t Stop Kicking The Back Of Your Seat And Throwing His Toy Car At Your Head?”

15 Dec

Jane from Chicago sent this one in, and boy, I thought she’d never ask.

I have to say, this isn’t the ideal situation I now find myself in, what with little Billy going Kung-Fu on my seat and continuously chucking his Hot Rod in my general direction. Yes, I know, I have, up until now, genially smiled and returned the toy car to you, laughing off the dull ache in the back of my head and offering some light-hearted quip about the nature of kids, Jane. However, I’m trying to watch this fucking movie here. I paid 12 dollars for the ticket, 4 dollars for the medium Coke, $7.50 for the popcorn, and now I’m paying for your aversion to contraceptives, on top of it.

Jane, pray tell: what makes you think that this is in any way an acceptable situation? You realize that your child is assaulting me right now, don’t you? If that little Hitler Youth were just 9 years older, I’d have him taken out of this theater in handcuffs, I swear to God. Personally, I believe that children over the age of 6 months should be subject to criminal prosecution,  just like the rest of us.

Actually seeing this makes me realize that it's wrong, now. You cuff them behind the back.

Little Billy is actually ruining my entire life right now, and you’re doing nothing to stop it. There should be consequences for things such as this. I’m not just ranting and raving here, either. I have real, concrete, actionable solutions for cutting down on undesirable situations such as this, involving Iceland, no less. Do you want you and little Billy to be sent to Iceland, Jane? While it’s true that it’s not nearly as icy as it sounds, it still basically sucks. Just Bjork, a bunch of unpronounceable shit and a ridiculous volcano that will ruin everyone’s life from time to time, just like little Billy, here.

Why can’t you just take the toy car from him, Jane? I truly don’t understand why we’re even having this email/blog exchange (or how it’s even temporally possible, for that matter, but I don’t want to go off on a tangent). You clearly see that your hell spawn is indefatigably determined to keep throwing that toy car at my head, Jane, but it’s like, “Oh, fuck Absentee Daddy, he likes this right now.” You’re fucking inconsiderate, Jane. You’re an inconsiderate little wretch of a mother, your child is obviously a sociopath, and both of you must be destroyed. This is exactly why I fled Cindy and the kids. Cindy was the source of it all; Cindy was like the deepest, darkest depths of hell personified, and Darla and Connor like two little leathery-winged demons sent forth to do her bidding– to come bursting into my bedroom after I’d just fallen asleep (after working a 10 hour night shift) to jump on me and scream about some stupid shit such as their having spotted a squirrel on the back porch. I think I have the actual picture here somewhere of that fucking squirrel that Darla took. Sigh. Now it has me thinking…it kind of makes me miss them. The kids, at least. The wife can go off somewhere and die, for all I care. But the beautiful, innocent simplicity of a child running to her father to wake him up, enchanted and effervescent, bubbling over due to the spotting of a squirrel…

Just kidding. I will never forgive Darla for waking me up that morning. I never fell back asleep. And all because of a fucking squirrel.

Kids are monstrous, marauding idiots. This is why I once went 38 hours without sleep. "But it was worth it, wasn't it?" No. It wasn't. It was just a fucking squirrel.

This is the kind of dumb-shit situation you constantly find yourself in when you have children, and why I strongly advise against reproducing in the first place. If you have made the mistake of child rearing, and constantly have the nagging urge to run from those nightmarish little shit-midgets, I recommend doing just that. I did, and I assure you, I have never been happier.  But alas, I have waxed prolix. Back to Jane.

Hey Jane, I think I have an immediate solution for getting little Billy under control. It’s a three step solution, in equation form:

Cattle prod.




A better world, for all of us.

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