I weep for the future.
I feel like I am beating a dead horse here.
Like I am harping on the same damn thing, again and again.
So let me say this again, and I will try to be clear.
Beat some sense into your fucking kids.
Maybe its the local.
Panera Bakery has decent coffee, despite how it is made.
They brew it in back and then bring out urns of it periodically.
There is always a vile suspicion in the back of my head that someone is teabagging this lukewarm swill in the back room before trotting it out for the public.
No way to be sure, but there is always a flavor I can’t identify and my paranoia screams “SCROTUM!” each and every time.
But I am not here to talk about the coffee.
I am here to piss and moan about Armageddon.
And it has a name.
That name is Crandall.
Crandall is only 7 and is already a world class fuck-tard.
That is an amazing feat for a 7 year old.
Say what you like about me being a rotten human being, but this will be the one who’s finger pushes the button that destroys us all.
How do I know this? I don’t, but it would not shock me at all.
First off, his family is rich.
Not that kind of rich that is trying to make the world a better place.
Or even that hiding in the shadows, anonymous kind of rich.
Even worse, they are that, its all beneath us, you motherfuckers are shit kind of rich.
Mom has not quit whining since they hit the door.
She is not happy to be here.
News flash you vile slag, none of us are happy your here either.
The husband is living his life thru the bluetooth growing out of his ear like a techo-goiter.
Apparently there are those at his office that cannot take a shit without talking to mister big.
So he is working, and practicing his golf swing with his mercedes smart key.
We get it asshole, you golf. How the fuck else would you be spending your worthless time?
Are we all on the same page here?
Now, lets meet Crandall.
Crandall is wearing little lord Fauntleroy short pants, a look that went out of style when FDR was wheeling his ass out of office.
There is a 1 inch circle around his mouth that is always wet, like he either lipped a jar of Vaseline in the parking lot or he has been licking his lips for the last hour non-stop.
His eyes travel independently of each other, much like an iguana or a koi fish. Its unsettling to say the least.
He lacks common sense and even basic depth perception, as evidenced by his walking full speed into the baked goods case.
A full five minutes passed and he was still thrashing on the ground, fully absorbed in his fit.
And that was when he farted, loudly, for the first time.
His parents ignored it for the first 3 minutes, then got into an argument over who is to blame.
They ordered, collected their vile offspring and looked over no less than 3 different tables that the wife nixed before settling at one.
I have never prayed for a terrorist attack on any public place that I was at but I would be ok with someone with a vest made out of c4 detonating at the front door if it meant keeping Crandall from attaining breeding age.
I once heard a drill sergeant scream that the best part of someone ended up as a brown stain on a mattress.
I get that now.
I am not saying Crandall is the anti-christ, I am only saying he MIGHT be.
I posted up across the room just to watch this macabre little freakshow for myself.
When the wife would stop talking, and trust me, it was not often, her face would scrunch up in a disdainful mew like someone had farted and she was trying to figure out who.
Just as that thought hit my brain, Crandall farted, or quite possibly shit himself for the first or second time.
The bark of laughter that escaped me scared the shit out of everyone.
I did my best to stop laughing, but that only made it worse.
I didn’t hide it, I just stared rudely and laughed my ass off.
They got their food to go.
It was awesome.
I was sad that I had ruined the show, but I was also thrilled that they were no longer here.
Once they were gone, a peace descended over the building.
The planets aligned.
A lasting peace came to all people.
Somewhere, an angel got his wings.
And all was right with the world.