Tag: children

Some Guy vs McDonald’s

mcdonald

As I wrote on Tuesday, our world is going crazy.  And the sad thing is we’re not even “slouching towards Bethlehem” in a dignified, poetic journey to the apocalypse.  No, not us!  We’re twittering around Wonderland in a Johnny Depp-esque rendition of the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party – utterly convinced we’re on the road to salvation.  Let me give you yet another example.

Some guy in Quebec, Canada is suing McDonald’s because, he alleges, they are breaking Quebec law by advertising their Happy Meals™ directly at children.  Whoa!  I’m no expert on marketing, but I’m fairly certain that when a restaurant gives away toys with its food and has a clown as its spokesperson, children are involved somewhere.  Anyway, Monsieur Bramante, a father of three kids under 13, came to the same conclusion and decided somebody should do something about this – and that he was just the boy.  He hired a lawyer (on spec, probably) and launched a Class Action Suit.  M. Bramante maintains that he, his family and anybody else who’s ever bought a Happy Meal™ are being victimized by McDonald’s flagrant flaunting of the law.  According to court documents, he says he “eats at McDonald’s about once every two weeks on the urging of his children.”  Plus, he estimates that he has spent hundreds of dollars on Happy Meals™ over the years.

So, what’s wrong with this picture?  Sounds pretty typical, for the 21st century — find some corporate Goliath and go David on their ass for media attention, fun and, perhaps, profit.  Unfortunately, there are a couple of flies in the ointment.

First of all, suing somebody just because they suggest you buy their product is ludicrous.  Unlike death and taxes, McDonald’s is not inevitable.  You don’t have to go there.  Like drugs, you can tell your kids to “Just say no!”

Secondly, you’re the dad!  No matter how much they “urge” you, taking nutritional directions from your kids is not a good idea.  There’s a reason we don’t allow children to vote, drive or operate heavy machinery.  Duh!  Counting on them to decide what (and where) the family eats is exactly ass-backwards.

Finally, and here’s the WTF moment: YOU’RE THE DAD!  Your kids may very well have motivation to go to McDonald’s but if they end up there, you’re the one providing them with the means and opportunity.  What’s wrong with you?  Downloading the responsibility onto Ronald McDonald doesn’t cut it.  Honestly, you need to spend a little less time dicking around in the legal system and a lot more time being the parent.

No wonder half the people on this planet want to blow us up!

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.

mothers-day

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.

Honk If You Love Your Kids

Parents lie.  I’m not talking about those little Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, go-to-sleep-or-Dora-will-get-cancer-like-grandma-and-die lies that they tell their kids.  I’m talking about those supersize whopper lies they tell the rest of us.

Let’s click pause for a moment — just for the disclaimer.  I like kids.  I’m of an age where pretty much anything under three feet tall is basket-full-of-puppies cute with a double shot of “Isn’t that precious?” on the side.  I think kids are wonderful little creatures, mainly because I don’t own any.  Remember this — ‘cause it’s gonna get ugly.

Talk to any parent and, before you can get to politics, religion or celebrities, they will wheel into this sunny story about how having children and raising them is the most wonderful experience since Mary Magdalene looked into the face of Jesus.  What a load of crap!  Anybody who’s ever been around children knows that kids — all kids — are self-absorbed little savages.  Turning them into adults is a full-time gauntlet of soul-eating persistence that would make Job himself learn the words to “Losing My Religion.”  And that’s just until they’re old enough to go to kindergarten.  After that, it gets even harder.  So why do parents lie about it?  They have to.  Who in their right mind would admit that their offspring are whelps of Satan?  After all, it’s mom and dad’s DNA that produced these little demons.

The problem is people (before they are parents) think that those cute little critters in the Huggies™ commercials are children.  They’re not.  I don’t know what they are — munchkins? mutants? cleaned-up leprechauns?  I’m not sure, but they’re not kids.  Kids are nasty little sticky things who leak from every orifice, make the most ungodly noises at the most inappropriate times, and have no respect for time or space or private property.  However, once the consenting adults have made this first mistake, there is no turning back.

It starts with “We’re pregnant.”  That’s the first lie.  We are not pregnant; she is.  Dad’s just along for the ride.  Eight months from now, he’s going to be lying on the sofa, drinking a beer and watching the ballgame while mommy dearest is spending her afternoon getting the hell kicked out of her bladder by Mr. Restless who’s getting tired of solitary confinement.  The only shared experience parents are having at this point is the growing apprehension that that anonymous ultrasound image has just stamped “Cancelled” on casual sex, forever.

Once babies are born, they become Mother Nature’s most efficient food processer.  These are not the cuddly-wuddly little Churchills you see swaddled-up on Facebook.  These are ravenous, cavernous creatures who never sleep for more than ten minutes at a time and can turn any amount of liquid into the most godawful semi-solids known to exist in the solar system – and that includes the sulphurous lava pits on Venus.  You might see their sleeping little cherub faces, but the parents know they didn’t go quietly.  They passed out after a half hour screaming session and a round of gluttony that would do Henry VIII proud.  But parents never mention that — and this is the second lie.  Want to prove it?  Just threaten to wake the little angel up.  You’ll never see such headlong panic short of announcing they’ve just released Charles Manson and he’s moving in next door.

Once parents get past the second lie, it just gets easier and easier.  Pretty soon, every time they open their mouths about their kids, they’re putting Pinocchio to shame.  Personally, I don’t believe anything a parent says about their children, at all – ever — even if the kid is 57 and signing the papers to put the old man away.  But if you want some serious grins, check out the affirmations moms and dads are plastering all over the Internet.  “A child is God’s perfect gift to the world”  “Nothing is as precious as a baby’s smile.”  Puh-leeze!  Why not just “Honk if you love your kids?” and get it over with.  Methinks the parents doth protest too much.

Quite frankly I don’t really blame them, though.  If I were handed a sentence of penal servitude to a ungrateful monster who had the manners of a warthog and the morals of a goat, I’d lie too.