little bastards.

unless you're a diligent and devoted disciplinarian,
chances are,
i hate the mess outta your kids.
welllll,
to be fair,
it's usually more of a hate-by-proxy,
as it pertains to their being an extension of you.
having humped someone up without protection
isn't the equivalent of a license to be a rude A-hole.
stop lookin' so surprised.
they would've given it to you when you left the hospital, dummy.
yeah, i know,
that's a little baby bit of meanness, huh?
caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare!?!
so,
what makes me hate up on your little a-hole replacements?
why the hard-hearted hard styles?
it's so easy to explain, you should already know;
summer vacation dinner.
that's all the reason i need.
summertime vacationtown restaurants should all change their names.
the new eateries should be called:
ruining adult's meals until september.
because that's what's poppin';
that's how it happens,
and that's when it stops.
if you've got an antsy two year old,
and somehow think it's a great idea to wait twenty minutes,
before being seated,
before appetizers and drinkies,
and can delude yourself into thinking that the situation
won't spiral out of control super quickly,
you're an insane inconsiderate asslicker.
get those jalapeno poppers to go, d-bag.
that goes for your precocious seven year olds,
a.d.d. four year olds,
punk-ass ten year olds,
and especially for mannerless, no-power, non-authority parents.
it may not occur to all ya'll miracle-makers,
but i don't actually want to chat with your kids, at ALL,
or have 'em stick their fingers in my pizza,
or watch them run wild and rampant throughout my meal.
i secretly wish tragic consequences to befall your little boogers.
(it's so true.)
and it's not like i'm at chuck.e.cheese.
i mean,
then i'd be asking for it, really.
i'm just sayin',
if i'm at a thai restaurant,
and your litle assblasters are eatin' chicken fingers,
maybe, just maybe,
you could've skipped showing them the diverse cultural eating experience,
and f*ed your fat asses to the fast food family 'uckfest,
and let me enjoy my chive dumplings in peace.
i still hate your kids,
but it's not their fault,
it's yours.
i'm just sayin',
use your head,
do your job,
or a little 'takes-a-village' b!tchslappin' may have to go down.
no foolin',
i will horrify your small humans into a coma.
....and then order dessert.

undisciplined kids and mommy-mom-talk parents
can all pretty much F* right off.
hard.
this kind of rant is how me and my sweet ladybird
talk dirty to each other.
it's hard-style pillow talk,
based in mutual distaste for doo-doo buttery ruiners,
F*n' up my sh!t,
and F*n' up the precursory eats and treats that compose that sh!t.
we and my lovely one hate ALL the same stuff;
that's what romance really looks like;
never quiet, never soft.....