Talkin’ ‘Bout Your Degeneration

I have come face to face with the devil. No, it’s not me. Not this time. I can’t talk about myself in every post, can I? Sometimes the devil comes in the form of a sweet little girl.

Why is it that when strangers see a baby, an adorable child, or a cute little dog they feel it’s suddenly socially acceptable to interact with same and/or the adults involved?

I hate that. I’ll thank you very much to stay the hell away.

My wife is one of those people. A toddler in a restaurant stands on a seat and stares at my wife. She’ll smile and wave and stuff like that. The nerve.

So the other day there’s a mom and her cute little girl in a restaurant. I was eating my tacos and minding my own business. My wife saw the little girl and smiled. Then, when the mom wasn’t looking, the girl stuck out her tongue at my wife. Three times!

Mom looked back and the little girl went back to adorable peaches and cream. Mom was none the wiser.

The behavior was calculated. The behavior was deliberate. That little girl knew exactly what she was doing. And it wasn’t an innocent act of cuteness, either. There was something vicious behind that tongue. The Marquis de Sade would have proudly declared she had a bright future.

My wife mentioned something about giving the girl a swat on her tushy. It takes a village to raise a child? Try touching someone else’s kid and you’ll be sued until the cows come home. The bank robber that brandished a firearm the other day? The cops arrested him then he was released due to a lack of jail space. Step in and do a job that a parent isn’t willing to do? The catch-and-release program will suddenly be canceled and you’ll be doing hard time. Don’t even think about trying to tell a parent their business.

Me? I mumbled something about “guns” and suddenly I was the one in trouble. My wife accusingly said, “You always take things too far.”

Hey, lady! I’m not the one sticking out my tongue at strangers, so there!

The next generation is in trouble. Deep trouble. Serious trouble. Personally I’m convinced that it’s already too late. The signs are everywhere.

Every year comes more stories about Easter Egg hunts being canceled. Not because of the behavior of the children, although I’m sure that’s shitty, too. No, the hunts get canceled because of the actions of the parents.

It turns out that too many parents are breaking the rules in their desire to see their children get eggs. Seriously. No shit. We hate welfare. We hate entitlement. We say there’s no such thing as a free lunch. But when it’s our progeny involved and said progeny isn’t up to the task? We’ll be the first ones to provide that entitlement on a silver platter.

“Listen up, motherfuckers! My kid is getting an egg. We can do this the easy way or I can gut you open and dance in your intestines. Which way is it going to be?”

Tom’s Law #42

“Children are most influenced by their own peer group except when parents act like douchebags. Then, suddenly, they become the best students of all time.”

Later, when the little one is ready for school, you have to redshirt the little bastard to gain them every possible advantage, fair and otherwise. “My child is a natural born leader. He’s old, taller, more mature and everything else than the rest of the class.”

“Oh yeah? I’m re-redshirting my kid a year before yours.”

“Oh no you don’t! I just re-re-redshirted my fucker a year before yours. With double super-sticky glue and shields up! Game over, re-bitch!”

By the time they reach their late teens their little minds are so messed up they don’t even know what they are. That’s when we give them the car keys (or they steal them) and take out an innocent family while they and six of their closest friends permanently opt out of the human race.

Sometimes you have to be proactive, though, in case you haven’t done all that you possibly could to fuck ’em over good. In those cases, buy them electronic devices, at the earliest possible age. Futurists are now recommending pregnant women rub iPads with Angry Birds on their bellies. Soon you’ll be able to implant internet cables directly into their young impressionable eyeballs. And if they ever get unplugged, plop them in front of the television set so your exciting game of Farmville won’t be interrupted.

If they make it past those Darwinian hurdles, then they get to go on and make other decisions, like: “I’m going to cheat and play dirty in sports! And if any damn referee has the gumption to say one word to me, then I’ll sucker punch him in the head while he ain’t lookin’. Yeah, that’ll learn him a lesson! No one tells me anything. No one would dare. I’m the greatest thing that ever existed!”

Sometimes, though, the guy you punch in the head dies from his wounds. Then you get an attitude adjustment and reacquainted with reality after all. If the victim lives, though, then society is there to step in and say, “Wow. You are an athlete. You are special and superior to everyone else. You get special privileges and treatment. By the way, drink all you want and party on! And it makes no difference if your dates are conscious or not. Do whatever you want with ’em. They’re only women! It’s not like we ever bothered to teach you any morals or anything.”

Oh, hell. Whatever. What do you think? Am I losing my negativity edge or will someone in society surprise me by doing something good? I’m holding my breath.

When you want to feel it, really feel it, step outside and watch young people making choices. It’ll really brighten your day.