I'm not one to tolerate stupidity in any of it's forms. Actions and words that haven't been properly thought out before they're thrown into a social situation are nails on a blackboard to me. That's why, above all else, I cannot stand kids. What's the appeal of having a drunken midget plowing into your valuables and creating a scene when their inferior, developing bladders burst at the seams?
I don't know about you, but every time I see a bratty kid demand another toy from his weak willed mother, I feel like jumping on him without showing the same shoe removal courtesy as I do to a trampoline. I know what you're thinking: "They're G-d's little miracle", "You were a kid too." Firstly, something that never shuts up and is constantly running into things isn't "a miracle", it's that drunk guy at the party whom everyone wishes would just go home. Secondly, I was never a child. I sublimated into adulthood after I realized that crappy macaroni art and making a scene at department stores isn't getting me on anyone's good side.
I'm sorry for depressing you, Mrs. Soccer Mom. Now you'll have to get yourself some Prozac when you pick up your kid's Ritalin. Don't be too glum; there's hope for you yet. The next time your kid acts up, show 'em the stiff side of your belt. Nothing says: "I love you but I want you to shut the fcuk up" like the smack of leather followed by the sting of a belt buckle. That's right, beat the snot out of your kids, they'll thank you for it later. Until next time; help control the child population by getting yourself spayed or neutered. Peace out, suckas.