It takes a village to raise a child, so they say. I still have yet to see this “Village.” If any of you know where the fuck it is, let me know. I bet it’s in El Dorado. I definitely have very little help with the kids. While I can’t seem to find this village, I know it has to exist because I always seem to run across a village idiot. That guy or girl who has to tell you how to raise your kid, with fucked up advice, in a judgy, you suck, you shouldn’t breed sort of way. You know, Stranger Danger.
It happens to all the parents out there, especially the parents of a kid with special needs. Why? Bullies always target the special needs. They act all holier than thou but they are bullies who fuck with special needs people. They deserve your spit for that shit. Yes I’m telling you to spit in someone’s face.
But really what it is, people are like wolves. They prey on the weak and injured. They prey on children and parents who are busy taking care of their children. If they can, they will prey in packs. But not all of us parents are weak. Some of us, you don’t want none of it. Some of us are tigers and we strike back. We strike hard. We leave a mark.
Prime example. From the Grunts 11B Facebook page…
Ok. I prefer life when people actually mind their own gotdammed business. If it doesn’t concern you in anyway conceivable then shut the fuck up and move out. I just returned from the dentist where my 4 yr old special needs son had some work done. My boy loves his daddy and on occasion likes to pop out and scream boo to scare me to get a laugh. As I’m sitting in the waiting room playing angry birds to pass the time while my wife is in the back with my boy, my son pops out and gives a grinning roar to scare me and starts laughing. All good fun right? Wrong. Some cunt slurping waffle has the audacity to open her dick socket and proceed to tell me to “control my fucking kid.” Not wanting to upset my son by going with my first reaction, my wife and I take the kids to the car. I turn around and go back in to get an Appointment Card for the next visit (or so I said). I find this bitch ranting to the others how some folks shouldn’t be parents. This of course is unfuckingsat. I proceed to give this twat the what for in a fashion so colorful that dentists walked out of their respective offices to see what was going on. The bitch just sat there like a coward not saying a word until I was finished with her chin still on the floor. After the debacle I turned to the receptionist and simply asked, “Can you send a reminder in the mail for his next appt?” As i was leaving the waiting room erupted into applause. The moral of the story is?
I never am so fortunate enough to have someone with me to watch the kid(s) in the car so I can go back in. So I have to tone my response down a bunch of notches, though the one time I let it all out, my kid behaved perfectly for a whole week I scared her that much, and it was funny because I never seen a fat guy run so fast before in my life.
I don’t think I’ve shared this story yet in fear that A, I might be judged. B, it would confirm all of your suspicions of my crazy. C, I might scare you. D. someone might report me to the police. Maybe I have shared it in an earlier post. I do remember typing it up at some point, but I don’t know where or why. Anyway… This is definitely a story of what you should NOT do.
I was driving through a Burger King. I had my oldest kid with me, and she was I think 2 at the time. Because I knew we were just driving through without getting out of the car, I let her come with me in just a shirt and diaper, a last second decision made on my way out the door. She was not wearing pants or shoes. I rarely do this, but don’t judge people who do because I’m definitely neither the first nor the last parent to do such a thing.
I get to the drive thru window, and they can’t take debit card orders in the drive thru because their machine is down, but they can if you go inside. I argued with the person working there.
“Can’t you just swipe my debit card in the machine you would use to swipe it if I were inside?”
“I don’t understand. You have access to a working debit card machine that you are choosing not to use?”
We just can’t take your debit card through the drive thru.
“But you can inside?”
“Then why can’t YOU use the machine I’d use inside? I have a toddler with me. She’s not wearing shoes. Trust me, it would be a thousand times easier if you walked to the debit card device and swipe it for me than to make me come inside and do it myself.”
I’m sorry. You’ll have to come inside.
So fuck all. I went inside. With my kid. Because she wasn’t wearing shoes, I had to carry her. The entire time. Easier said than done.
I place my order. They hand me cups to get the drinks myself. I carry my kid over to the drink area, and the little metal rods you place your cup on to get your drink from the machine were so far apart, there was no placing the cup down and it staying there. It takes two hands to then get a drink because one needs to hold the cup, and the other push the button. I needed a third hand or a place to stick my kid. I had no place to stick the kid. The area for the tray in front of the soda fountain machine was disgusting. It was covered in 50 different shades of sugary sticky goop with condiments (like someone had fun with ketchup). So I propped my knee up to the edge of the tray area, let my kid straddle across my thigh like a horse, and I poured two sodas like a boss.
Mind you I’m double jointed… Well at one point during the whole thing, my knee started slipping, and my kid started slipping more toward the knee. I needed her back closer to my hip. So I for whatever reason, with whatever I was doing, like my hands were doing one thing and I had to act fast or the kid might fall, I did some sort of thing where you know how you have a kid on your hip sliding south and you nudge the kid up in a way where she kind of flies up, like you throw the kid back in place almost… Something like that, I stuck my foot up on the EDGE of the tray area to incline my leg so she’d go sliding back toward my hip, all for a split second like just the nudge I needed to get her back in place, and put my knee back. I’m not even sure my foot touched the edge. Like all I did was throw my knee upward really fast for a second wiggling my ass to scootch a kid back in place.
I finished getting the drinks. This guy walks up next to me and starts rambling on about something. I wasn’t paying attention too much because I don’t know. I WAS BUSY. Fuckturd. Anyway, I was just like, “uh huh. Yeah. Thank you.” Walked away to the straw area. He followed me and kept talking, all calm. I was like, “Uh huh. Cool.” And I walked back to the area where you wait for your food. He followed me. Kept talking.
Finally I started to pay attention, and he was pissed that my foot might of touched the edge of the tray holder thing for an entire second, that I was smearing my germs all over the place his food would touch. I was like really?
At first, because he was calm, I was calm. It went something like…
“Dude, I have a kid on my hip who I can’t put down. I needed two hands to get those drinks. I’m amazed I did it with absolutely no help from you I should add. And it’s not like that tray area isn’t already disgusting number one or there’d be a poopy peed filled diaper ass on it for minutes as opposed to the sole of my shoe for a split second, if it even touched it. Second, your food is coming wrapped in paper and put on a plastic tray. If you are dumb enough to unwrap your food and smear it across that disgusting tray holder, you get whatever is coming to you in the realm of germs.”
Then somehow it escalated where he was screaming, I was screaming, he told me I shouldn’t have kids, I shouldn’t breed, I’m a bad person, I’m the antichrist…
To top it off he looked like Michael Moore. An obese version of Michael Moore.
I did tell him he looked more gross than all the germs on the bottom of my shoe.
Anyway, as we were screaming at each other, me getting all ghetto overusing the fuck word, with my kid on my hip the entire time, the staff at Burger King just stood there with their mouths hanging open. Finally I looked at them and said, “I told you. I told you it would be a million times easier for you to swipe my damned debit card your damned motherfucking self than forcing me to come in this fucked up joint and dealing with assholes like this fuckhole over here. I hope you’re fucking satisfied. I hope this made your job so much more motherfucking easy on you. You lazy asswipes.”
So then I stormed out with 2 sodas, 2 bags, and my kid all in my arms, and I get to the car (well small SUV, Ford Escape). I put the bags on the hood of my car. I laid the sodas on the hood of my car and spilled them all over myself and my kid. I get the kid in the car seat. Michael Moore look alike comes out, sees me struggling with soda all over the place, and laughs. LAUGHS. So I launched both sodas at the Burger King, smacking what’s left of the soda all over the window of the building. I get in the car. And fat ass is now in the parking lot. Walking. Laughing. So I popped the bitch in reverse, gassed it up good, aiming for him. I really was aiming for him. I never seen a fat man run so fast before in my life. Then I drove off, laughing. Pointing and laughing. He was breathing heavily and possibly might have had a heart attack, one I was totally prepared on blaming Burger King’s food on.
So basically, I probably tried to hit Michael Moore with my car once. I’ve also been known to hit people with my grocery cart, drop cans of green beans on their feet, and things like that. I stopped with the aggression route just because I’m tired, I’m not as insulted anymore, and I definitely do not want assault charges placed upon me. I now scream random things. Like now, I’d tell Michael Moore in the soda section, really loud for the whole restaurant to hear me, “Please don’t talk about your herpes in front of my child. They have a cream to help with the burning if it’s bothering you that much.”