Thursday, June 28, 2012

Raising Cain (ringside)

Hot damn, you were in Walmart. Beating the living Bejesus out of your kids. It was a royal smack down.

I guess you had just about enough and you snapped. Atom smashing ballistic. There was some serious crying and gnashing of teeth.

You totally went OT biblical on the older kid. Straight up pre-flood domestic disturbance.
The genesis of WWE was taught last night in lane 7.

"Ah, clean up lane 7. Small children laid out er partially decapitated."

In fact, you scared the cashier so bad she was going to close. She had that, oh God, why me look on her face. Shut her lamp off too.
That is until you gave her that look like, "oh no bitch. I did NOT just go thru that to now get in another line..."

Of course you said nothing. It was all in the stare. The lamp came back on and it was MMA Sarah Kaufman Strike-force time revisited on Junior.

I have to admit, I jizzed a little in my pants when you resumed the Syrian style crackdown on your dissident, wayward heathen babies.
I've been in lines before behind women who thought their Devil child's misbehavior and disrespect was 'cute' and 'normal'.
So I was sorta cheering you on. At least until you were using the soft drink sliding door to remold the younger ones head.

I fully expected Jesus to return on Mount Zion, see you getting 1st century Roman on your tots, have a flashback and he would jet right back into heaven for several more weeks of dry summer.

The messianic version of groundhog day brought on by your Hamburger Hill tactical assault of your own Viet Cong offspring.

I noted that Asian and Black women cheered you on. One even said to "get that little mother-fucker!"

While most white women dialed 9-1-1.

Men of all races watched hoping for a boob to pop out in the melee.

The bumper stickers on your mini van read, 'Pastors wife", and "honk if you love Jesus'. Ah, but alas, I was too scared to ask your name...

N.

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