Full Credits

Stats & Data

September 10, 2011

So, you think you can win against a kid when he's being a prick? Well, you know dick. This is their world and you just live in it. Think you know the game? Here's the short version...

    Kids are unruly, anyone with a brain bigger than their asshole will tell you that. What sets apart unruly kids from straight up ass faced kids is one simple element and it gets overlooked like a hobo willing to blow you for cough syrup. The element I speak of is...time. An unruly kid will quickly develop into an ass faced punk in no time flat. What can any rational adult-like person do? Well, since the public flagellation of children still hasn't made a splash in the U.S. and pistol whipping will only teach the child how to use his fire arm collection with greater efficiency, there are few effective alternatives.


    That concept may seem like it wouldn't be as effective, as say,  a good, open handed slap about the head, and you're right. A lot of parental types, when faced with their child or child they're supervising's rapid rise to ass faced fuck head status, often fall to this tried and true method as a way to demonstrate to the child the way that said child is acting. If they see how much of an outrageously dumb fuck they're being, surely the little bastard will come to his senses. Then, the day will be awash in apology's and forgiveness, an exchange of knowing smiles, then, a quiet night on the couch watching A Very Brady Christmas. Possible? Sure. Anything seems possible on acid. So, for our non-acid taking child supervisors. No. 

    Mockery will only hasten the child to amp up his assholery, simply to piss you off...more. The more ironic mockery, the more the child will attempt to out do it. This continues until the one upping reaches a fever pitch.  Rapidly, this gets out of hand of course, leaving you either in a corner hugging your knees tightly, weeping, while the kid does a victory dance amid the debris of your self esteem or your face floods with the hot blood of child destroying vengeance. 


    You're initial onslaught, against the growing bravado of the Devil now wearing child skin, failed. He mocks your attempt openly now. Time is working against you. You've entered the middle ground. No man's land. The place where the lost souls of lesser men drift about the battlefield, trying in vain to find their balls among the mountains of other balls...that were torn off by shit head kids. Your brow furrows, fists clench, thoughts of battering him with a sack full of sugar plums dance through your head. What's next? A popular method is to take away everything he loves and holds dear. Yeah, that's right.

    Cut his entertainment umbilical and he'll shrivel into submission. Fuck yeah! Say goodbye to your only material justification for existence, hell spawn! Strip that fuck face in training of his streaming t.v., untouched toys and if he's old enough, the sweet porn delivering internet. Then, wait for the inevitable response of..."So." Well, what the hell do you do with that? You now decide...fuck this and take your pseudo victory with you and go home. That's what. Buried behind a wall of this kid's plastic junk, you find yourself on the couch, watching what is left of whatever in the hell you were watching that now makes even less sense, when...from the dim recesses of your authoritative house of cards...the sound of tables turning. Coming in low, hard and guns hot...the fake cry. Goddamnit. Boom! It's here and it's drowning out the announcement of finalists on  America's Next Talented Porn Dancer. Motherfucker. What the fucking hell now?


    So, you're exhausted and this fuck knob has come to the end of his fuckin' line! The time has come to end the game. The end is nigh, dammit! At last you shall unleash the power of your built up hell fury on his tiny, know it all ass. Stalemate be damned. Right! Right?  But, the truth is...you're broken. Inside, you are a whimpering mess of what used to be furious adult. Outside, you have the scowl of a prison tested bad ass. You're one cold mother fucker. Of course, this look...is all you have left, but, he doesn't know that...does he?

    He looks at you, you look at him. What the hell, time to throw in your hand and see what the fuck is what. It's either this or duct tape him to the wall and head for ol' Meheeco. You decide to bargain. Qui pro quo, my friend, it's natures sadistic, fuck with your mind way. So, like a washed up gambler with a gun to his head, you offer something, anything to get the fuck out of it all. Any fucking thing will do for a just a little  piece of mind. It can be anything, an hour longer to stay up, candy, cake, a new toy, a Coke, mixed drink, vodka, car, car bomb crank, gold rings, a date with Hannah Montana or maybe that other one...the uh, chick that likes to cut herself. Hell, you might even be able to swing that last one, if you offer her some happy pills, to fend of the pain of her miserable existence. Give this hellion something! This almost always results in a win of some sort. It might even sew up the night in your favor.


Though, ultimately it's short lived. He knows he got to you and beat your fucking ass...again. It's goes largely unspoken, but, it's still there, hanging in the air, like an awkward drunken confession or a ghastly fart in church. Next time around, it'll be different you think to yourself, but, you know it's nothing but an empty lie. Ah, but, all in all, it beats explaining to a cell mate that you killed the kid in self defense. It was either him or your sanity, right? Something had to give!

Yeah, yeah, just bend over and shut up.

Elton Edgar also writes other things, check it out here http://eltonsaysthings.blogspot.com