... but I stopped. Now I'm a dad, and may blog again...

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Block Chop 63:

I heard shouting in the street and glimpsed out the window, as an amateur curtain-twitcher, to see two adults screaming at each other, whilst swarmed by similar looking children.  I can think of no respectful words to describe this couple, that don’t make me seem middle-class and condescending, and they seem like hideous, vicious, uneducated, breeders of child psychos.

Man and woman, at least bodily, although I suspect not intellectually; obviously the parents of these poor numerous children.  As they screamed they set off in opposite directions; him in one, and her with all the children.  She screaming about fucking dick this, and stupid twat that; he yelling about fucking murder this and getting away with that.  Her response to this accusation of leniency toward the children was to grab one of her boys by the wrist and slap him eight times across the hand.  Not firm but gentle taps; they were swinging stinging forceful whacks.

She turned around to walk away and the number of children seemed to multiply, as though she had just birthed a couple more during the exertion of her psychotic slap attack.  This disgusting, pathetic display of hate, swearing, and physical violence was obviously par for the course for these children.  They were not fazed or upset by any of this.  To these children shouting, swearing and hitting are normal ways of communicating.

The mother was out of control.  In way over her head, with way to much responsibility, and entirely uncomprehending about the pathetic job she is doing, and the damage she is inflicting upon her children.  (...or as Richard Herring would put it, her sexcrement.)  The children are learning that words are punctuated by fucks and shits, minor disputes are settled by screaming, and misbehaviour is punished by rage induced violence.  They are not learning how to behave, or be civilised; they are learning how to punish and torture.

If being a snob means I don’t want that as my family life, don’t want to see or hear that, and don’t want my children at schools with kids who learn like that; then I am a snob.  My kids, the ones who haven’t been born yet, are unlikely to get battered at home.  I won’t be teaching them to communicate with spit, and hate, and fists.  My kids are likely going to be nerds and/or, knowing their mother, dancers and drama queens.  Drat!  My kids are going to get bullied by the children of irresponsible and unready idiots.  The only remedy for this is to somehow ensure one of my kids is Hit-Girl from Kick Ass.  Then it’s her job to look after the others.  Problem solved.

The storm has passed, the rumbling thunder and dousing rain have subsided, and the sun has shown itself to dry up the puddles.  I’m off out now for my first haircut in I don’t know how long.  I hate getting a hair cut.

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