People spend thousands of hours and millions of dollars studying the various problems and hang ups of our younger generations. Why are they struggling so much? It's given quite the thought, and so many people know the answer but don't want to say it for fear of hurt feelings.
Here let me help you: They are struggling because we're handing them everything, except their asses.
Don't get it? Here let me elaborate.
Have you been to a public school lately? Fuck I remember being in middle school, high school, and even some of elementary school. When I was in elementary school there was this thing called "Failing Grades." They occurred quite frequently when you couldn't get your shit together. Now there are no such things in many schools.
The concept of making kids accept the fact they suck isn't really used anymore. Instead they give the kids as many tries as they want, letting them redo the same paper 50 times to get that C. Or they just let them fly through the year without doing anything and the get a D.
D's for degrees! BITCHES.
What the fuck?
I understand the concept of letting them "try again to help them learn." but that is ridiculous.
Your boss will never say, "Oh it's okay that you left half of our important statistics out of that quarterly report. Just do it again, it's alright."
No- they aren't going to fucking say that, here's more a more realistic rendition:
"Hey, Jack, it seems you have fucked up the quarterly report for the second time in a row. I'm going to have to let you go."
Jack's boss doesn't care about Jack's feelings in the slightest.
The real world doesn't care about satisfying your tickly-happy bits or stroking your ego. The real world is mean, and kids really just don't get that. My generation doesn't even understand that. They think it's all pickles and ponies and Wonder bread. A good hunk of my class didn't even graduate and many of them still live at home- not going to college, playing video games all day, complaining about how hard life is.
Go fuck yourselves, you whiny pricks.
For some reason many people I know felt like they'd get out of high school and would be handed a nice job, a great car, and a trophy wife/husband. No- that's now how it works. There are people out there that have worked their entire lives, trying to make their way up the chain, that still don't have the little things you take for granted.
Like food,
Shelter,
Clean water,
Education,
Freedom.
I should be a teacher, because then when a student turns in stupid shit to me, I'd get out my red pen and circle everything that sucks and clearly write:
This is shit.
Take this out.
What the fuck?
F- for "Fuck this paper."
Kudos to Mel, who is a great teacher and is still nice about it.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
Why I Hate Kids
So here we are, all gathered around at my blog, reading the cynical bullshit I once again have to say.
Did I mention how much we all love it?
So here's the thing: I hate kids.
As all you intelligent people that read the title of this blog noticed.
A lot of people ask me, "Well what's wrong with kids?"
What the fuck ISN'T wrong with kids? Really.
No, but seriously.
It's the parents, most likely.
Okay, so I've been told since square one that I will grow up and have a nice husband and kids. Maybe two or three kids and I'd make a great mother. I'll be living in some suburban neighborhood in a cookie-cutter house with a nice lawn and a decent vehicle. You know, I wouldn't mind all of that. Except the kid part. Fuck kids.
Kids are noisy.
I'd be sitting there, trying to read my book and little Timmy would be in the corner going, "Mom...mom....MOM...MOOOOOOOOOOOM." and I'd be like,
"What, Timmy? What the fuck could you possibly want that is more important than this book I'm trying to read? You better fucking be on fire when I look up after finishing this paragraph."
I'd look up and Timmy would most certainly NOT be on fire (much to my dismay) and instead he'd probably have pooped his pants or peed in his bed. Since that's all kids do.
Cost money.
Breathe.
Make messes.
Eat.
Shit.
Then I'd tell Timmy to change out of his underwear, throw the poop filled ones away, and take a shower.
Then, out of sheer defiance, Timmy would proceed to pull down his shorts and sit on the carpet. Dragging his ass along using nothing but his feet, he'd make a face not unlike a goat that has put its head through a fence and gotten stuck- and is now having its ass devoured by coyotes.
Okay I don't know about that but I'm sure Timmy would do something I didn't like.
Kids are expensive.
Timmy would start school, and I'd get this huge fucking list of things I'd have to buy him to make sure his school experience is excellent.
Because we all know that meager wage they pay teachers really incites the fire inside them to provide excellent education to a room full of inconsiderate pricks.
We'd be at the store looking at the list and I'd say,
"What the fuck do you need a calculator for? You're in the FIRST GRADE. You have to do math that's like, 2 + 2 and shit. You don't need a fucking calculator. You also don't need pens. You need pencils, as you're going to be making a lot of mistakes. Pen is permanent, Timmy, just like when I didn't use a condom. That shit in life is permanent, Timmy, life doesn't come with an eraser...LIKE PENCILS."
Timmy and I would continue shopping and it's likely Timmy would spot something he really wanted, a toy car, perhaps.
"MOM CAN I HAVE THIS?" would be the first fucking question out of his mouth.
No, you can't have that, Timmy.
"BUT I WANT IT! WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!"
This is when I would kindly remind Timmy that we're inside the store, and that there are other patrons shopping, he should be quiet. Seeing as how that never works, Timmy would continue screaming for a good two minutes while I stared at him.
Finally, I would kneel down so that we were eye to eye...
"Timmy, mommy loves you very much. She wishes she could give you everything you wanted, but there is no way that my 12 dollar-an-hour job could pay for all the frivolous things you desire. I think it's great that you have such high expectations out of life...but you just can't have this for now, maybe next time, okay?"
Of course, being logical with a child isn't going to work...soooo-
"BUT I WANT IT! WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!! I HATE YOU!"
I would look at him and gently take the car from his tiny hands and wipe the tears from his eyes. I would smile and start to put the car into the cart with the rest of his stuff. Of course, Timmy's eyes would brighten and that's when
I'd fucking huck the car across the store and then continue pushing my cart.
I would proceed to buy him pencils and some notepads. So two out of the list of about 42 things I was supposed to buy my damn kid. I would send him to school the next day with his two items.
After school I would promptly receive a letter from his teacher,
"Dear Mrs. Smith,
I noticed today that Timmy did not have a pencil box. It is imperative that all students have a pencil box, as without proper containment, the writing utensils they have get unruly inside their desks. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter, and I expect that Timmy will have a pencil box by tomorrow morning.
Best wishes,
Mrs. Doodlebopper."
In order to compensate for my neglect to buy Timmy a pencil box, I'd send him to school the next day with a whiskey bottle full of his pencils.
Don't fucking drop that bottle Timmy, it's my favorite.
Kids break shit.
I'd be in the kitchen washing the dishes, when I'd hear a huge crash and I'd walk briskly into the front room to find the 15" television, the largest one I could buy, broken on the fake linoleum. Of course, there'd magically be no Timmy to be seen.
Primal Hunting Mode Activated.
I'd walk up the stairs looking for Timmy, saying lies like, "Timmy, where are you? Mommy just wants to make sure you're okay." and "Timmy, I won't be angry, just come out here." we all know that these things are lies, because our parents used them on us.
Timmy doesn't know that yet, because he's fresh-out-of-the-vag.
After finding Timmy cowering under his bed at the very back near the wall, I'd coo softly for him to come out from under the bed. He'd of course, say no. So I'd do what any other loving mother would do.
I'd climb on the bed and threaten to step on where he's hiding, and when he still screamed, "NO!!!!" I'd start putting pressure on that spot until he crawled out from under the bed.
Like that's normal, right?
At that point we'd have a nice long conversation about why he's an asshole for kicking over the television when I only bought it so he could watch Mr. Rogers, who obviously isn't teaching him anything as he calls our next door neighbor names, and that definitely makes it "Not so great to be our neighbor."
Kids don't fucking listen.
Prime example is when I was at work the other day, we have this kid-based summer camp where they practically take an entire elementary school and put them in the hands of college students. My counselor was like, "This sounds like a great idea for you!" I was like, "Bitch please." I was on break, and decided that right then was a good time to go pee, seeing as though I had to go and I was on break...
Logic I say.
Well I went in there and there were these four little girls playing around in the bathroom not even using the facility. They were playing with the automatic soap dispensers and paper towel dispensers. I honestly less than gave a fuck so I walked in a stall and sat down. Two seconds into my peeing experience I had the joy of one little fucker looking under the stall door at me.
I'm like, "Yeah? Excuse me."
She goes, "Do you know where my friends are?" not even aware that maybe I'm uncomfortable with some strange little girl watching me pee. I just gave her a look like, "Really?"
"No I don't, can you please go away now? What you're doing is extremely rude."
She keeps staring at me, and asks again where her friends are, because she really needs to find them. If I could have kicked her in the face I would have. I said, "They all left you while you were busy watching me relieve myself." She gasped and ran out, I heard her scream,
"YOU GUYS!! AHHHHHHHWAAAAAAAH!"
I hoped she fell down while running.
Kids take the fun out of life.
I'd be changing Timmy's clothes after his bath, and my friend Seanna would call, being like,
"So Mel, Jenn, Kala, and I are going to the bar, wanna go?"
In my head I'd be like, oh fuck yeah.
In reality there's no way I could go because I don't have a baby sitter to watch Timmy, and it's like nine at night so it's not like I can just whip one out of nowhere.
I could try the "hide Timmy under my shirt like he's unborn" trick but then they wouldn't serve me beer anyway.
FUCK IT.
I'd end up going to jail for child endangerment after telling Timmy to get the toast out of the toaster using a fork, and telling him to make sure the toaster was plugged in.
I'd end up going to jail for child endangerment after telling Timmy, "Let's play speed bump!"
Timmy would end up in a foster home after I'd told him we're playing hide and seek in the mall, and then leaving him there.
All this being said...
All respect to mothers out there.
I could never be one.
That requires more effort than I'm willing to put forward.
People tell me, "Oh one day you'll change your mind, you'll want kids."
I say, "Yeah, that's what my crazy ex said too, 'Oh you'll change your mind, you'll want this spork in your eye.'"
Did I mention how much we all love it?
So here's the thing: I hate kids.
As all you intelligent people that read the title of this blog noticed.
A lot of people ask me, "Well what's wrong with kids?"
What the fuck ISN'T wrong with kids? Really.
No, but seriously.
It's the parents, most likely.
Okay, so I've been told since square one that I will grow up and have a nice husband and kids. Maybe two or three kids and I'd make a great mother. I'll be living in some suburban neighborhood in a cookie-cutter house with a nice lawn and a decent vehicle. You know, I wouldn't mind all of that. Except the kid part. Fuck kids.
Kids are noisy.
I'd be sitting there, trying to read my book and little Timmy would be in the corner going, "Mom...mom....MOM...MOOOOOOOOOOOM." and I'd be like,
"What, Timmy? What the fuck could you possibly want that is more important than this book I'm trying to read? You better fucking be on fire when I look up after finishing this paragraph."
I'd look up and Timmy would most certainly NOT be on fire (much to my dismay) and instead he'd probably have pooped his pants or peed in his bed. Since that's all kids do.
Cost money.
Breathe.
Make messes.
Eat.
Shit.
Then I'd tell Timmy to change out of his underwear, throw the poop filled ones away, and take a shower.
Then, out of sheer defiance, Timmy would proceed to pull down his shorts and sit on the carpet. Dragging his ass along using nothing but his feet, he'd make a face not unlike a goat that has put its head through a fence and gotten stuck- and is now having its ass devoured by coyotes.
Okay I don't know about that but I'm sure Timmy would do something I didn't like.
Kids are expensive.
Timmy would start school, and I'd get this huge fucking list of things I'd have to buy him to make sure his school experience is excellent.
Because we all know that meager wage they pay teachers really incites the fire inside them to provide excellent education to a room full of inconsiderate pricks.
We'd be at the store looking at the list and I'd say,
"What the fuck do you need a calculator for? You're in the FIRST GRADE. You have to do math that's like, 2 + 2 and shit. You don't need a fucking calculator. You also don't need pens. You need pencils, as you're going to be making a lot of mistakes. Pen is permanent, Timmy, just like when I didn't use a condom. That shit in life is permanent, Timmy, life doesn't come with an eraser...LIKE PENCILS."
Timmy and I would continue shopping and it's likely Timmy would spot something he really wanted, a toy car, perhaps.
"MOM CAN I HAVE THIS?" would be the first fucking question out of his mouth.
No, you can't have that, Timmy.
"BUT I WANT IT! WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!"
This is when I would kindly remind Timmy that we're inside the store, and that there are other patrons shopping, he should be quiet. Seeing as how that never works, Timmy would continue screaming for a good two minutes while I stared at him.
Finally, I would kneel down so that we were eye to eye...
"Timmy, mommy loves you very much. She wishes she could give you everything you wanted, but there is no way that my 12 dollar-an-hour job could pay for all the frivolous things you desire. I think it's great that you have such high expectations out of life...but you just can't have this for now, maybe next time, okay?"
Of course, being logical with a child isn't going to work...soooo-
"BUT I WANT IT! WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!! I HATE YOU!"
I would look at him and gently take the car from his tiny hands and wipe the tears from his eyes. I would smile and start to put the car into the cart with the rest of his stuff. Of course, Timmy's eyes would brighten and that's when
I'd fucking huck the car across the store and then continue pushing my cart.
I would proceed to buy him pencils and some notepads. So two out of the list of about 42 things I was supposed to buy my damn kid. I would send him to school the next day with his two items.
After school I would promptly receive a letter from his teacher,
"Dear Mrs. Smith,
I noticed today that Timmy did not have a pencil box. It is imperative that all students have a pencil box, as without proper containment, the writing utensils they have get unruly inside their desks. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter, and I expect that Timmy will have a pencil box by tomorrow morning.
Best wishes,
Mrs. Doodlebopper."
In order to compensate for my neglect to buy Timmy a pencil box, I'd send him to school the next day with a whiskey bottle full of his pencils.
Don't fucking drop that bottle Timmy, it's my favorite.
Kids break shit.
I'd be in the kitchen washing the dishes, when I'd hear a huge crash and I'd walk briskly into the front room to find the 15" television, the largest one I could buy, broken on the fake linoleum. Of course, there'd magically be no Timmy to be seen.
Primal Hunting Mode Activated.
I'd walk up the stairs looking for Timmy, saying lies like, "Timmy, where are you? Mommy just wants to make sure you're okay." and "Timmy, I won't be angry, just come out here." we all know that these things are lies, because our parents used them on us.
Timmy doesn't know that yet, because he's fresh-out-of-the-vag.
After finding Timmy cowering under his bed at the very back near the wall, I'd coo softly for him to come out from under the bed. He'd of course, say no. So I'd do what any other loving mother would do.
I'd climb on the bed and threaten to step on where he's hiding, and when he still screamed, "NO!!!!" I'd start putting pressure on that spot until he crawled out from under the bed.
Like that's normal, right?
At that point we'd have a nice long conversation about why he's an asshole for kicking over the television when I only bought it so he could watch Mr. Rogers, who obviously isn't teaching him anything as he calls our next door neighbor names, and that definitely makes it "Not so great to be our neighbor."
Kids don't fucking listen.
Prime example is when I was at work the other day, we have this kid-based summer camp where they practically take an entire elementary school and put them in the hands of college students. My counselor was like, "This sounds like a great idea for you!" I was like, "Bitch please." I was on break, and decided that right then was a good time to go pee, seeing as though I had to go and I was on break...
Logic I say.
Well I went in there and there were these four little girls playing around in the bathroom not even using the facility. They were playing with the automatic soap dispensers and paper towel dispensers. I honestly less than gave a fuck so I walked in a stall and sat down. Two seconds into my peeing experience I had the joy of one little fucker looking under the stall door at me.
I'm like, "Yeah? Excuse me."
She goes, "Do you know where my friends are?" not even aware that maybe I'm uncomfortable with some strange little girl watching me pee. I just gave her a look like, "Really?"
"No I don't, can you please go away now? What you're doing is extremely rude."
She keeps staring at me, and asks again where her friends are, because she really needs to find them. If I could have kicked her in the face I would have. I said, "They all left you while you were busy watching me relieve myself." She gasped and ran out, I heard her scream,
"YOU GUYS!! AHHHHHHHWAAAAAAAH!"
I hoped she fell down while running.
Kids take the fun out of life.
I'd be changing Timmy's clothes after his bath, and my friend Seanna would call, being like,
"So Mel, Jenn, Kala, and I are going to the bar, wanna go?"
In my head I'd be like, oh fuck yeah.
In reality there's no way I could go because I don't have a baby sitter to watch Timmy, and it's like nine at night so it's not like I can just whip one out of nowhere.
I could try the "hide Timmy under my shirt like he's unborn" trick but then they wouldn't serve me beer anyway.
FUCK IT.
I'd end up going to jail for child endangerment after telling Timmy to get the toast out of the toaster using a fork, and telling him to make sure the toaster was plugged in.
I'd end up going to jail for child endangerment after telling Timmy, "Let's play speed bump!"
Timmy would end up in a foster home after I'd told him we're playing hide and seek in the mall, and then leaving him there.
All this being said...
All respect to mothers out there.
I could never be one.
That requires more effort than I'm willing to put forward.
People tell me, "Oh one day you'll change your mind, you'll want kids."
I say, "Yeah, that's what my crazy ex said too, 'Oh you'll change your mind, you'll want this spork in your eye.'"
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