I ♥ Teenagers. Let's Ship Them All To Sweden

Teenagers make me reconsider my position on child abuse. I don't beat my kids, which is difficult considering they beg for ass whuppings on a regular basis. I wonder if I could pay someone to do it for me? You know, like a mob hit only still living but unable to sit for a week. If anyone out there has been considering going into business for themselves, I think this is an excellent entrepreneurial venture. I don't want to say that I just discovered the next big money-making trend, but...

All I'm saying is that I would pay big money for someone to slap my older kids around, and I know I'm not the only one. Think about it: you get the satisfaction of Corporeal punishment without the Liberal guilt. If you're a Liberal, that is. If you're a Conservative, you could always hire someone to kick your own ass.

I know, I know. I'm getting political on a blog that transcends party lines. Do you really think I give a fat rat's ass? I take the opportunity to piss off as many people as possible. I'm an equal opportunity pisser-offer.

Anyway...

I baked the husband a cake for his birthday. Okay, so his birthday was yesterday and I baked the cake yesterday, but didn't get around to decorating it until today. Who cares? He's thirty-nine; just curl up in the fetal position, massage your balding scalp, and get out of my way already.

The two youngest kids, who are still happy all the time because they don't realize how much the world sucks, wanted to surprise him and sing Happy Birthday when he walked in the door. So, everyone is gathered around the cake with three candles (so as not to start a fire) singing at the top of their lungs, and the two teenagers are just sitting there. No singing, no smiles, no enthusiasm whatsoever. Now, if I can bake a cake, decorate it, and sing while in the throes of debilitating menstrual cramps, surely these (insert cruelly inappropriate name here) can open their fucking mouths and sing for two minutes. This man works his ass off providing a good home and life for them and they can't even sing Happy fucking Birthday?

You know I lit into their asses. But not as harshly as I wanted to, though. I didn't want to ruin the entire celebration. Needless to say, I hope they feel like crap. On a stick. In a tornado. At the bottom of a sewer drain.

And please, I beg you, if anyone takes my suggestion about the kid-abusing business, shoot me an email.

Seriously.