10 Pain In The Ass Parents (plus 1)

In the 21st Century, we worship children the way primitive tribes worship volcanoes — which, unfortunately, makes parents the mothers and fathers of gods.  The irony is, of course, most parents got that way as a result of a drunken Christmas party, a back rub that got out of control or Ryan Gosling.  And the truth is most parents think being a parent gives them permission to be a total pain in the ass.  Here are Ten Pain In The Ass parents (plus one) I’m sure you’ll recognize.

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Parents who take their kids everywhere — Sometimes people would prefer to enjoy a play, movie, concert, dinner or art gallery visit without your kid’s running commentary or relentless demands for juice.  Why is “Adults Only” restricted to porn?

“Gifted” parents (Sometimes called “Holier-Than-Thou” parents) — These are the know-it-all parents who act as though Mother Nature has bestowed upon them the holy insight needed to raise the world’s first Perfect Child.  You better save some money, folks, ’cause that perfect kid of yours is going to need years of therapy after you get through with him.

Parents of “gifted” children — Shut up!  Shut up!  SHUT UP!  Just — shut — up!

Parents who think you’re stupid ’cause you’re not a parent — I don’t know how many times I’ve heard, “Well, you’re not a parent, so you don’t know anything about X.”  This might be true.  However, I’m not a helicopter pilot either, but if I see a helicopter in a tree, I know there’s something seriously wrong.

Paranoid parents — These are the parents who can’t come over to your house because you have a microwave, or stairs, or sharp corners on the furniture, or peanut butter in the cupboard, or electrical outlets, or dust, or flowers in the backyard, or … Jesus! Give it a rest!  People!  If your kid is that susceptible to the ordinary world, here’s a news flash: he’s not going make it.

Parents who think you’re interested in every little detail of their kid’s existence — My name isn’t grandpa.  I don’t care when your kid walked, talked or did something messy in a pot — and neither does anybody else.

Foodie parents — These are the parents who will only feed their kid kale and quinoa harvested by indigenous Peruvians certified organic by the World Health Organization.  This kinda crap is just abuse.

Parents who are always announcing how wonderful it is to be a parent — To re-coin a phrase, “Methinks the parent doth protest too much!”

Parents who are always bitching about their job — These are the people who are forever complaining about how difficult it is to be a parent.  This might be true in Equatorial Africa, where nutrition, clean water and — uh — survival — are all optional.  But, west of the Vistula, I don’t care how you tell it, getting your 4-year-old into his GapKids clothes to go to day care just isn’t that kind of epic human struggle — unless you’re doing it wrong.

Privileged parents — We’ve all met these jerks.  They’re the parents who think because they have a 2-year-old, they’re Priority One on the world’s agenda.  Here’s the deal:  If your name is Cling Cling the Panda, then maybe — maybe — you and your kid get centre stage. But if it isn’t, you’re going to have to settle for ordinary — like the rest of us.

And my favourite:

Telephone parents — These are the parents who stick their phones in everybody’s face, making videos of their child as if she were a David Attenborough documentary.  Yeah, it’s great recording memories, but you might wanna put the electronic device down every once in a while and actually look at your kid.

There Is News Beyond Tr**p

In the big wide world of ours, there are tons of things going on that don’t include President What’s-His-Name.  In the great mediagasm journalists are having with the guy, here are a few things you might have missed.

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In Mexico, the American DEA found a catapult that drug dealers were using to fling narcotics across the border — I assume marijuana.  And this wasn’t just your average medieval rock-tosser, either — the thing was huge.  There’s an “A” for ingenuity in there somewhere, but honestly, why didn’t anybody notice?  I can pick out where my car is parked with Google Earth, and one would think government satellite surveillance was a little bit more sophisticated than that.  But I guess it’s the same old story: when you don’t need a catapult, they seem to be everywhere, but the day you’re looking for one, they’re nowhere to be found.

Apparently, China has discovered that they have a gigantic gender imbalance.  They estimate that, by the end of the decade, there will be 30 million more men in China than women.  To put things into perspective, that’s more single men than the entire population of Austria, Switzerland and Sweden — combined.  The Chinese call them “leftovers,” and there are a number of academic studies trying to figure out how and why this happened.  But honestly, does it matter?  (Toothpaste out of the tube, etc. etc.)  Unfortunately, nobody is addressing the elephant in the room– which is what do you do with 30 million horny men, bubbling over with enough testosterone to melt the polar ice caps?  After all, baseball and cold showers can only do so much!

Oddly enough, the same day China admitted their gender situation, Playboy decided to bring boobs back to its pages.  Coincidence? Yeah, probably!  Pen and paper magazines continue their trudge to the grave, and a little nudity isn’t going to stop that for a nanosecond.  But there’s no law against full frontal irrelevance, I guess.

And finally, my favourite:

Grace Mugabe, wife of 92 year old President Robert Mugabe, who’s been running and ruining the beautiful country of Zimbabwe since 1980, was in the news.  (Honestly, I didn’t know he was married to anything but evil.)  Anyway, she maintains that her husband is so popular in Zimbabwe that, if he died, he could run for president as a corpse and still win the election.  Strange as this sounds, it actually happened — in Missouri, in 2000.  Incumbent Republican Senator John Ashcroft was beaten by Democrat Mel Carnahan who died in a plane crash two weeks before the election.  What a major kick in the self esteem!  When your opponent is dead, and he’s the one who gets elected — well — that pretty much seals the deal that the people of Missouri don’t want you around, John.  All’s well that ends well, though, because in 2001, President George W. Bush appointed Ashcroft Attorney General.  And we all lived happily ever after.

I’m Tired Of Trump

donald-trumpOkay, I’m officially tired of Donald Trump.  I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with the guy.  It’s been three solid months.  Even Jack the Ripper got a day off, for God’s sake!
I don’t care how bad he is.
I don’t care how good he is.
I don’t care what he looks like, where he goes or who comes to see him.
I don’t care that Saturday Night Live hasn’t been this relevant since Chevy Chase discovered Gerald Ford was clumsy.
I don’t care that Alec Baldwin doesn’t like Trump.
I don’t care that Stephen Baldwin does.
And I don’t give a rat’s ass for Rosie O’Donnell’s opinion.  (That woman’s just mean.)
Actually, I’m sick and tired of celebrity millionaires telling me how I’m supposed to care and what I’m supposed to care about.  I’ve got a  new rule: I’m not taking any advice from people who don’t buy their own toilet paper.  (And BTW, I’ve seen some of those movies they’re calling art.  They ain’t!)
I’m tired of Trumpeters, for and against, cluttering up my Twitter feed.
I’m tired of turning on the TV and seeing nothing but Trump.
I’m tired of people plastering Trump all over Facebook.  The election’s over; it’s time to get back to sick kids and kittens.

Personally, despite what the media says, I don’t think Donald Trump is smart enough to be the Antichrist, but, if he is — well — why doesn’t he get on with it?
And I definitely don’t think he’s the best president since Teddy Roosevelt.  So far, pretty much everything he’s touched has gone sideways.
So maybe — just maybe — he’s somewhere in the middle.

But that’s the problem.

It’s impossible to have a reasonable political discussion about the relative merits or demerits of a Trump presidency because every dumbass from Maine to Malibu is shouting an opinion — and most of it is just noise.

So until we quit being immature jerks, running around calling each other names, I’m out.  And, as of right now, if all the Trump supporters and all the Trump detractors were gathered naked in Antarctic, I wouldn’t give any one of them the steam off my pee to keep warm.

There’s more to this world than Donald Trump, folks!