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|I don't know if breeders is a "dead" internet term, but if it is...I am hereby resurecting it.|
|So here is my beef. I am a proud parent of two reasonably well behaved children. By reasonably well behaved, I mean that they don't commit serious fouls. One is turning two today, which pretty much resolves her of most faults, and puts any blame for the obvious annoyances on me. Which I realize, thus I do not take her to fancy places, movies, or any other place where people may expect reasonable quiet. My son is nine, and he can be an argumentative little ass, and he is the main focus of my story.|
Here I am, on an otherwise calm night, playing with my younger while the older child is out playing with his friends. There is a lovely game of pelt-each-other-with-crab-apples going on, and all is well. Next thing I know I hear some asshole screaming at him on top of his lungs. This chode was calling him a bastard, a brat, everything but a good little urchin. So I go out to see what the problem is. It seems as though his little sweetums had hit my little sweetums in the face, and this guy was somehow upset that his female sweetums got hit back in the process. Someone forgot to let this guy know that chitlens are the beacons of equal rights...it don't matter what gender you are, if you hit me, I am going to hit you back. So I have to sit through this recently graduated from trailor asshole give me parenting lessons, while he forgets the fact that he is drunk off his ass, and that neither he nor his wife could probably even pick their children out of a line up. So I have to explain to my kid what his colourful words like "neglectful fuck" and "waste of life brat" mean after restraining myself from killing this fine upstanding neighbor of mine. If anyone knows of a nice neighborhood in northern illinios, please let me know, as I am putting my house...such as it is...on the market in the morning
Oh yeah, a mental picture is worth a thousand words. Pencil mustache, beer gut, and a #3 tee-shirt with sleeves removed. Nice eh?