YSaC, Vol. 977: And that’s why you …
Need someone to be satan to scare child
Lately my son who is 9 years old has been getting a little out of hand. He has the foulest mouth I have ever heard and wont stop smoking. He talks back yells at his mother and pretty much any other bad thing you can think of a child doing . I am looking for someone willing to come to my home dressed as satan to scare my child into being good. You would need to have a devil type costume and just come in the house surrounded by smoke and scary music then just talk to him and let him know if he does not change his ways he will be joining you down in hell. Maybe explain to him that hell is hot all the time and that he will have to do homework 24 hours a day in hell (he hates homework). I feel this will scare him into being good . I dont have a lot of time or patience for the discipline stuff.
This sounds like a job for J. Walter Weatherman.
Yeah, that discipline stuff is hard. You know, like being responsible for your kid and paying attention to them and stuff. MAN, that’s hard. It’s WAY easier to have some yahoo in a plastic mask come and make some strange noises and threaten your child. That’s almost guaranteed to work.
:shakes head:
Not sure I could say very much without being all [corey] and stuff.
Monkey see, monkey do, man. Monkey see, monkey do.
L-Squared…I am soooooooo with you….grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
me toooooooooooo
dittoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
kelli, now I have to put you on report for violating the style sheet!
Or, if you don’t have the time or patience to do the report:
Need someone to be satan to scare commenter
Lately Kelli has been getting a little out of hand. She keeps holding down the “o” key and breaking the style sheet…
Far be it from us to point out that ‘parent not being bothered about discipline’ leads directly to ‘out of control kid’. Especially me, as I don’t have kids and never will, but pets count, right? 😉
You could hire someone to dress up as a cat and frighten the ratkids into behaving.
Pets totally count. Severus gets in trouble when he’s being irritating.
Mine does, as well.
*picks at clawed threads on trousers*
I have two kinds of pants; ones the cats have ruined and ones the cats have not yet ruined. Both kinds are covered in cat hair.
I hope Sparky’s kids pick out a very bad rest home for him. Preferably one where the attendants dress up as mythical beings and frighten the residents.
Sadly, even when they don’t dress that way some residents still see them that way.
*hugs CJ*
Thanks, I needed that. 🙂
(turns on the Condense-o-Matic C3000 prose condenser and puts this ad into the hopper)
I fail parenting forever and am grasping at straws.
Hello, this is Nanny 9-1-1 and sir I must say that even though I’m usually capable of handling the worst cases, yours is beyond hope. I think the kindest thing would be to consider taking the offender out to the woods and leaving him there.
However, I do think the boy can be saved.
Hey kid…
PUDDING ON FIRE!!
Beware the JINGLY!
I would so love it if a dyslexic CL reader showed up at the house with a red suit and a fat belly, yelling “ho ho ho” and to see SparkyDad’s face as he realized that this wasn’t going to go down nearly as well as he had planned.
I would pay good money to see that.
:checks pockets:
I have fourteen cents and a stick of gum; any takers? You have to provide your own suit but I can manage some mystical smoke and flames if no one’s hidden my kerosene again.
Will Rudolph’s glowing red nose substitute for the flames of Lucifer’s rec room?
There’s just something wrong about hiring Santa to come and tell kids if they don’t behave they’ll be spending an eternity with him in hell.
Oh? Is there? I totally cannot see the down side of any aspect of that.
Jingle all the way…..!
An eternity working in a sweatshop at the North Pole, isolated by miles of frozen wasteland, building toys for other children?
That might actually work.
Oh, they meant Santa. *puts away 5 sizes too small satin outfit suitable for scaring males of all ages*
Actually, I’m sure some dyslexic CLer could make this kid scared of Santa and ruin Christmas for the rest of his life. Death is too far away for a 9-year-old kid to be thinking about eternity, but a lifetime of bad Christmases just might work.
At least it wasn’t a tiny satin lice-poncho (how do you get that over those moose horns without tearing it?).
Oh, not to worry, it’s got velcro.
Nothing says sexxxxxy like velcro!
🙂
Depending upon what ‘loops’ the velcro is hooked to, too, obviously,
(Hey! Was there always a corner here?)
Yes, nothing says sexy like poncho lice in satin and velcro.
Correction: PUDDING ON ETERNAL FIRE & BRIMSTONE!!
No, not the pudding I don’t think. She says the kid won’t stop smoking and says lots of things.
Solutions:
One of my favorite no smoking signs I’ve seen was posted next to a fire extinguisher:
“No Smoking. If you do smoke we will assume you are on fire and take appropriate measures.”
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If you scroll down fast enough, you can see a duck.
Ghostie, I had so many ducks, I had to put them in two rows!
I think you scrolled too fast.
IF, That’s just not going to fit in the box!
Let’s look on the bright side, shall we? It’s parents like this that keep police officers, juvenile courts, criminal courts, detention centers and prisons in cornbread now, isn’t it?
Thanks, Sparky, for single-handedly stimulating this sector of the economy.
[RANT] It’s people like this that make me want to drive my car into a brick wall for choosing to be a teacher. No, don’t worry, you don’t have to discipline your child. We can handle that fine in the classroom with 30 other kids around while trying to get them ready for 8 million standardized tests. [/RANT]
Then I say something snarky and hilarious and lighthearted 🙂
nonsensicalcat – I’m sure most teacher want to beat us parents. I have my own personal list just from volunteering in school.
My son’s teacher just called me yesterday because my child was being disruptive during quiet time. I offered to come apply immediate discipline, but she declined and just asked me to talk to him that night.
He was talked to, then disciplined… and sent to bed earlier than normal. He’s only 5. If he starts smoking before 18… he’ll never see the outside of his bedroom until he’s 30. Unfortunately, he’s learned my mouthiness and attitude. But everyone says he’s a good kid, so I’m hoping I don’t have to save up for a psychiatrist down the road.
Your child has the gall to not be quiet at FIVE YEARS OLD and you punish him?
Yea… I don’t think you have any room to talk.
Super Parent to the rescue! Thank God you showed up Francois, otherwise the moral fabric of society would be crumbling around us!
Seriously though:
Going to be earlier than normal because you refused to be quiet during queit time seems rather a fitting lesson, and on the mild side of punishment.
Scaring your smoking, swearing child with Satan doesn’t really seem to be in the same category let alone the same room. Plenty of room for Limey to talk, methinks.
Cheers.
And to move a step further, let us look at the word used: “Discipline.”
That to me is not suggestive of any kind of harsh punishment as I’m sure you’re imagining, Francois. It’s in human nature to look at a vague declaration and assume the ultimate worst case scenario, especially in those pre-cocked for such explosions of moral outrage.
However, we must temper that with a more mundane expectation lest we allow ourselves to become reactionary extremists. It’s like people who call CPS because a mother choses not to breast feed, or because a parent lets their 4-year-old eat a slice of pizza. Their extreme morality is ultimately counter-productive to their argument and, closer to home, makes them look like raving lunatics.
Which detracts from the image for those of us who truely are raving lunatics.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my squirrel costume.
When it’s scheduled quiet time during school and he does not obey an authority figure ( the teacher) to settle down and stop disturbing the other kids… yes, he loses his privileges (the discipline). He had been promised a trip to the store after school so he could spend his Easter money on a toy. That was the privilege he lost, and because he was overtired (and the reason for his misbehavior) is why he was sent to bed early. And this morning, I reminded him to apologize to his teacher for not listening and obeying her.
I only joke about beating my child. He’s got his parents wrapped around his finger and he knows it.
Thanks for the backup, TableMan. I was a little too vague, though… that’s what I get for trying to post at work, and trying to keep it short. I just wanted to show that I think it’s important for parents to support teachers and gave an example from my week. I’ve heard too many stories of teachers not wanting to talk to parents, because their ‘precious child’ couldn’t be doing anything wrong. I have what I think is a pretty great kid, but he’s no angel. He’d just laugh at someone dressed in a red cape and pitchfork and ask them if they wanted to play Nintendo with him.
Thank you TacoMagic… I don’t want to hear your rationalizations. They’re not funny.
nonsensicalcat – my mother and sister are both teachers, so I know that all the good teachers are actual saints.
It’s definitely one of those jobs you have to be passionate about because teachers are overworked, underpaid, and blamed for parents’ own shortcomings. But I love my students, and I want them to learn.
The problem is mostly that I can’t undo in one hour a day, 5 days a week what parents have done to them every day for the past 16 years. Not that all parents are bad; just enough of them are.
I’m sure all of my fellow YSACers who are parents are wonderful. Your kids would be the ones that make me laugh every day with their sarcasm and wit.
:: ring ring ring::
DFS is on line #1 for Sparky.
This sounds like a job for Taco “THE TABLE” Magic!
[Story Time]For those who weren’t privy to the table story:
I was at a Mongolian Grill with my family when a pair of parents and their troupe of ill-mannered, ill-controlled, and likely ill-planned children decided to join us and improve our afternoon with their presence. The children, whom the parents ignored to the point where a kidnapper really could have made out pretty well, proceeded to terrorize the entire restaurant.
The banged on the fish tank, screamed and ran around, and just basically made a huge nuisance of themselves. If my sister and I hadn’t already been in high school at the time, they would have made perfect “Hey, you see those kids? If you EVER do that nobody will find your body!” material.
Nevertheless, we had been sitting through this terrorism for a while, and, despite it, I wanted to make another trip to the grill. So I snagged my empty plate and headed over. On the trip over I noticed one of the smaller children (about 6 years old or so) running from one of the larger ones, either in mortal terror or in a game of tag… whatever. Either way he was screaming/squealing all the way and not generally paying attention to what he was doing.
Brain to me, “If that child continues at his current collision course he will most likely collide with your elbow in about 3 seconds. Should we take evasive action? We have more than enough time to prevent the collision if we simply stop walking or change speed.”
“Naw, that’s OK brain. I’m sure he’ll veer off. Maintain course and speed *Snergle*”
“What was that, I thought I heard something after you said “speed”?”
“I think there must be some static on the line, just your imagination.”
*WHAM*
The child runs face first into my elbow, probably giving him a black eye but at least hurting him enough that the tone of his screaming changes to a less gleeful to a more “I’m in pain!” variant and goes running to his parents.
I proceed to fill a bowl and get myself another plate full of Mongolian noodles. As I get back to my family and take my chair, everyone at our table overhears the bad parents, who haven’t yet calmed their crying son.
Bad Parent, “Oh are you OK? Did you hit your head on a table?”
The child never became coherent enough to rat me out, and apparently the larger child didn’t see what happened. I have been overly satisfied with myself since that moment.
Now, whenever my family and I are somewhere and uncontrolled children are running about, they ask if “The Table” can do anything about it.
Lyle was there, so she can vouch that it’s pretty much as I told it with little to no embellishment (though she wasn’t in my head to overhear my conversation with my brain).
[/story time]
You beat me to it! There goes my snarky comment for the day.
And now I want Mongolian grill. Damn you, Taco!
I love this story, every time you tell it.
It’s one of my favorites to tell. I think I’ll set it up to post on my blog tomorrow; that way I can just point to it when I make “THE TABLE” references.
Could it be……. SATAN???
I’m banking on Stan showing up.
Or (even more dyslexically) Sean.
In fact, I think it would be possibly awesome if Sean Penn showed up to scare the child.
Or Sean Bean, in full-on LOTR or Game of Thrones get-up.
How about just send the Westboro Baptist Church? I believe they already have the appropriate number of signs and ethics.
Hmmm, excellent idea. I think Sean Bean needs to show up and “discipline”
memy cat.With that armor and the sword and everything?
Mmmmm…
I’m sorry, my mind wandered off for a moment.
Sean, please come visit the women of the Snark Lounge. We’ve been very, very naughty.
And bring Viggo Mortensen with you, pretty please.
And make Eric Northman come shirtless*
*or as Taco would say: shitless
*very quietly, so as not to appear “attrackted” to the “wrong” sort of men*
Um, and if, you know, you happened to bring Orlando Bloom with you, with the long elf hair, um, we could, you know, probably work with that.
:Googles Eric Northman:
Oooh… Yes, please!
And make Orlando bring the pirate outfit. And Captain Jack.
*scrolls through request list*
Hmm. Apparently we’ve been very, very bad in the Snark Lounge. Who knew?
… And just look at all these corners!
Good thing those pirates wear three-cornered hats.
I can’t believe it’s not Satan
My favorite oleo spread.
:ding-dong!:
He was here, the guy from CraigsList! Now all of Merle’s parenting troubles would be over. With a glance down the hall towards his son’s room, where a thick fog of cigarette smoke lingered and the the muted click of glass against glass was nearly drowned out by the flood of curses, he headed towards the front door. It was Junior’s poker night; Merle had seen him only minutes before in the kitchen, dressed in his SpongeBob pajamas, getting more ice out of the freezer.
Merle hurried to the door, hoping the bell hadn’t disturbed Junior. He didn’t want to get the belt again. Flinging open the door, he noticed that Junior had been practicing carving his intials into the wood again. Better that than when he had used their living room furniture to perfect his tagging techniques.
On the steps was a large lumpy shape, vaguely man-shaped and man-sized, that smelled strongly of garlic and soy sauce. It resembled uncooked bread dough and had been splashed generously with a thick, dark red liquid. A drop fell on Merle’s wrist and he absently licked it off.
Barbecue sauce.
“Hey, you Merle?”
Merle nodded.
“Finally! Do you know how many Deffenberks there are in this town? I’ve been getting all kinds of strange looks. Where can I plug in the smoke machine?”
Merle’s mouth, which had been working as frantically as a hairdresser on meth, finally produced words.
“What…You…But…But you’re suppose to be Satan!” The lumpy thing seemed to roll its eyes, but it could have been a couple of sesame seeds shifting position.
“Of course I’m seitan! That’s what you asked for, right?”
“Not seitan,” Merle hissed “I wanted Satan! Satan!”
“Geez, you don’t have to get upset. Look, I printed out the ad. It says “satan” right here.” From somewhere within the creases in the brown mass a hand produced a crumpled piece of paper, speckled with sauce.
“Yes! Satan! The devil! Old Scratch, the Prince of Lies, Mr. Mephistopheles! Not seitan!” Merle was trying to keep his voice low but he could not help twitching his arms about like a gaffed trout. The stranger studied the sauce-dampened paper for a moment.
“Oh. I just thought you misspelled seitan. No one spells anything right on CraigsList.” He paused. “Listen, since I’m here already and I built this suit, do you want me to try scaring the kid?”
“No! He regularly terrorizes biker gangs! Nuns weep blood when he passes them on the street! Every pet within a ten mile radius has run away! An animate lump of boiled wheat gluten isn’t going to scare him! Why would you think that?!?”
The drippy lump looked down at its shapeless shoes.
“I thought he might have celiac disease or something like that.”
“Will sending my cousin Tofu instead work any better?”
I just started lurking, saw this, and as celiac, started laughing heavily. I also can see the Church Lady doing this— when I got offered some, my initial reaction was to turn white, and then say “Let me guess, Satan?” Please, may I use this? I’d credit you & the site!
Ugh. Ya know, you need a license to drive a car. You need a license to get married. You need a license to own a dog. You need a license TO GO EFFING FISHING! But any a-hole can be a parent. *sigh*
No, any a-hold can have a child. That’s a different thing to being a parent.
Really, “a-hold” I typo THAT?
*harrumph*
At times I wonder if you have been possessed by the spirit of Evil Ash. I think of you fighting your own hands, willing them to spell things correctly, but they just shiver with little, silent finger giggles and type out whatever the hell they want.
So, a full nelson would suffice?
Now don’t go getting all logical-preachy there Lou! You don’t need a license to be a politician either and somehow we’ve all surviv— PUDDING ON FIRE!!!!!!
My favorite quote from Parenthood, even though it is a shame it had to be Keanu Reeves who spoke it.
Thank you for that though.
One of my favs too.
Love that movie..and it was sooooooo spot on.
OT: had to share this for all my cat peeps out there:
http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/1vILx2/theoatmeal.com/comics/cat_vs_internet
My my, that’s quite the link you have there.
Jealous? 🙂
No…
*Crosses HTML Tags*
Totally not Jealous.
I showed that to the other techs at work. We all had a good giggle. Thanks Mud!
9 years old. 9 years old. 9 years old. 9 years old. 9 years old. 9 years old.
Okay, who buys the cigarettes for him? I KNOW Child Welfare would like to talk to these parents. Gah, again I am thankful I can’t locate this ad, because I am a mandatory reporter for child abuse and neglect. Sorry, tune in later for snark about the Royal Wedding and Obama’s school records.
I know, I was trying to stop myself from heading down that road. Foul-mouthed isn’t so unusual even with young kids (some of the ones round here use worse language than I do, and I’m pretty bad when I get going) but smoking at 9… Gah.
Right?!?!?!? I mean, 1. cigarettes cost money, so where is he getting them? and 2. if someone is selling them, why not have a word with them as well?
Oh right – “Mom” is just leaving hers around (because she buys them by the carton, it’s just easier if you run out in the middle of the night) where he can get them and isn’t bothering to hide them any more? (Hint: try his school bag, where his homework is. I hear that’s a safe place.)
[matt]
No, I don’t have any children either and while that is probably for the best, it’s a safe bet that even if I did I would be a little better at it than FailMom here.
I’m going to stop now before I work myself into supernova-level anger about this sort of thing.
[/matt]
I could write a [matt]-filled book about parents who shouldn’t be allowed to breathe, much less breed….
I worked with a group of 13-14 yr. old boys one school year. Each of them had been labeled “emotionally disturbed”, and each of them had a parent (or parents) that needed to be set.on.fire.
Oddly enough, nearly every one of these boys was creative – one to the point of having his artwork featured at the Dallas Museum of Art’s Vietnam exhibit, the kid was 14 and probably couldn’t pick out Vietnam on a map, but he captured a soldier’s fear, anguish and the brutalities of war with charcoal sketches that would take your breath away.
We all spent every day in a room together and I met all their parents. Without exception, they were interchangeable…worthless, slovenly, high or drunk most of the time, and clueless..absolutely clueless how to parent.
Because we showed them kindness and compassion, those boys left that “class” happy and as well-adjusted as could be expected given their home lives. I lost touch with all of them, and often wonder if they reached adulthood and in what kind of shape.
Keep hoping, CJ. I have a friend who has had a lot of bad stuff happen to her in her life (unlike a lot of people these days who blame everything on someone else; her own screw-ups she has owned and dealt with like an adult) and I only recently found out through a third party that she was practically raised feral (speaking of people who shouldn’t be parents …), circumstances that made the reporting grown man cry. I haven’t told her that I now know this, but I really admire her for (most of the time) transcending the life she was born into, mainly on brains, guts, sheer will, and humor.
… The same parent who is trying to hire Satan to solve their parenting troubles
As if a single appearance of a person in vague costume would magically “undo” a near-decade of neglect in a fell swoop.
Spark’ is a long way behind the curve on this one, and in desperate need of a number of supernatural powers brought to bear.
Which we, the rest of us, probably ought fear the least bit.
Consider
Ullymyrd did not know why he had to buy that brass doohicky in the window of the run-down shop. The fact that he had left the house with a bottle cap, a paperclip, and half a buss transfer, yet had the exact change for the brass, well, “thing” still troubled Ully. Leaving the shop, which he’d never noticed before, not once in the last five years, he’d been distracted by the scent of food.
Not mere cooking aromas, but, FOOD–something Ully had not been familiar with in the last few days. And this was spicy, exotic, and warm and comforting, and cinnamony–Ully was distracted by the image of a grandmothery chef making pies in an upscale asian fusion restaurant, the sort of place that was as unlikely to be in Ully’s neighborhood as a dry spot at the bottom of the ocean.
Yet, the aroma drew him on. He followed it as inexorably as if it were a leash–and uncomfortable analogy, as Ully was already salivating like pack of pavlovian dogs at a bell-testing factory. yet, he kept going, down one street after another. Eventually, he arrived at, well, “house” was accurate, in the way that, even after a tornado or similar disaster, a “house” is still there.
Ully did not want to, but, inexorably, he turned up the disaster that was the walk. For many good reasons–smoldering cigarette butts the very least of them–he stopped, gingerly, on the front porch. His arms, well, tingled; wait, no, the brass thingy was moving, vibrating, something. It was rolling around in his hands as if to get them to, well, rub, yes rub, the thing. Ully gave the brass thing a rub, and it was like a purring cat. He suddenly had a vision of where there was good job, and of a kindly woman, and a nice place to live. Ullymryd left the brass thing behind and set out yo live happily ever after.
[interregnum]
Freed from bondage, the Djinn coalesced on the step. Flexing his powers upon the mortal plane, the Djinn caused both the broken doorbell to ring and the door to be knocked upon. To the door came a disheveled person, who without a word of greeting or even inquisition, blurted out, “You’re Here! O Please, make my child behave!”
A cold and evil expression crossed the visage of the Djinn, Spark’ as will so much else in Existence failed to notice this.
Had Spark’ paid attention, then they might have noted it was the last time they ever could, as Spark’s very existence ceased to be. And, then, so did Spark’s parents, and grandparents, and great grandparents, and back, back, through the generations, winking out of the very warp and weave of spacetime, never having existed at all. As the quantum effects rolled on, the Djinn basked in the lovely glow of sundered leptons and mesons as they were as just-long enough nails scratching an itchy back . . .
Keep and eye out, chilluns, Spark’ could get their wish granted–and the quantum effects could ripple over us all . . .
:pictures the transfer of half a kiss:
:giggles:
Didn’t this guy see Monster’s Inc? Kids just don’t scare anymore.
Now, somebody send Mr. Winky to his house….THAT’LL scare him.
And this is why you shouldn’t name your child Huckberry Finn.
Need someone to scare parent into being responsible
Lately my mom who is old enough to know better has been getting a little out of hand. She has taught me all these words that I get in trouble for saying at school and keeps leaving her cigarettes around where I can easily get to them. She’s always paying attention to someone other than me so I get in trouble all the time. I’m looking for someone willing to come to my home dressed as a Child Protective Services agent to scare my mom into actually being a parent. You’d need to have a nice navy three-piece suit and just come to the house surrounded by lights and sirens then just talk to her and let her know if she doesn’t change her ways they’ll have me taken away and she’ll go to jail. Maybe explain to her that jail is cold and lonely and she’ll have to stamp license plates there (she hates license plates). I feel this will scare her into parenting me. I don’t have a lot of time or patience for teaching my mom to do her job.
I’m gonna go buy an internet and give it to you.
I know where you can get one for $10, or 3 for $50!
Also:
(she hates license plates)
caused me to laugh myself into near-incontinence.
You know what is sad about this scenario? It might actually work better than the original one the “parent” proposed.
Sadly, parents like these cannot be scared into anything. Having worked in this field, you can trust me on that.
OT: I quit my job two days ago.
And I feel like I was rewarded with the decision by my first comment on YSaC in a great deal of time being put in the box. So thank you for the affirmation, unintentional or not.
Commenting is a job! We will pay you with internetz, elebenty spinach toothpastes, and many tubs of uneaten clothing and vintage cereal (or Crisco, if you prefer).
..and chips, don’t forget about the chips..
Yum, dumpster cheetos.
…and a square hornet nest.
And truck-bee honey.
I hope this is good news, that it was freeing for you, and that you find other employement or win the lottery very soon.
If you did win the lottery, remember that I love you very, very much 🙂
..and I love you elbenty-hunnert-thousand-bazillion times more than ghostie…
It was EXTREMELY freeing for me. I cannot even begin to explain how at-ease I am now. What is sad is how burdened I had become, to the point where I was unrecognizable to myself and most people who knew me.
The job hunt is on but for the right job, not just any job. I plan to take my time and be thorough. Thank you all for the well-wishes and, as always, the humor.
::pokes finger into ear::
::wiggles finger around a little::
::withdraws finger with IF hanging on::
You’ve been in my head! Maybe that’s why I couldn’t stop giggling all day.
Is that a record amount of adores? It’s at 29 when I viewed.
Well done, IF. Well done, indeed.
My recent stint as the Easter Bunny seemed to scare enough kids (and adults) at local egg hunts. I don’t do Satan, but apparently I am a very scary Bunny.
I bet this was posted by the kid. He’s trying to find a good role model in his life.
Also, long time no see, everyone. I’ve been practicing my lurking skills.
Hi Bavec! So, are you a proficient lurker now? Welcome back!
There is nothing proficient about Stormtroopers. Have you seen them shoot?
You tell me…. can you see me right now?
We may not be good at shooting, but we’re awesome at finding lost droids
*waves and mutters*
*watches Bavec wander away*
Uh Bavec…
Those WERE the driods you were looking for.
driods are different from droids.
They’re much drier.
Well… I try not to dwell
It’s getting so a guy can’t make a few thousand simple mistakes on a daily basis without everyone jumping all over him.
Sheesh!
Aren’t you a little pink to be a stormtrooper?
The kid smokes? And he gets the cigarettes from who?
Whom. “He gets his cigarettes from whom?”
Who is on first, he can’t be getting smokes right now.
Hmm, I know everyone is blaming the parents, but in my town kids would get it from their older brothers (or another kid’s older brother). It’s still the parent’s fault in a way, not checking up on where their kid is or who they are hanging out with. Someone dressing up in a goofy costume is not going to help.
{Edit – this went much darker than my original intention – sorry about that and the language.}
[Ding-dong].
[Ding-ding-ding-dong].
[Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-dong].
The impatient hand finally released the doorbell button when sound started emanating from the darkened house. The shadow on the doorstep, shrouded in a foul-smelling mist, took a bit of a step back. The door swung open and harsh light spilled out into the inky blackness. The man standing inside the doorway tried to focus through the haze of alcohol clouding his brain, the stench of used crack pipe coming from behind, and the acrid reek of sulfur that hit him in the face as it spilled in from outside. His anger at the 3 AM disturbance at first perverted his face, and then perverted his language. “Exactly what the fuck do you want -” realization dawned on the man’s face when he saw a scarlet-cloaked figure surrounded by a sinus-choking mist – “oh, it’s you. Great costume.” The homeowner’s eyes narrowed because of the brightness of the light he’d turned on. That, combined with the chemicals muffling his brain, prevented him from seeing finer details of the scene. He overlooked the nearly skeletal visage of his midnight guest and a horde of glowing eyes cowering just outside the halo of light cast by the bare bulb in the hallway. “What the fuck are you doing here at – “the man’s eyes changed from sleepily narrowed to a focused squint as he looked at the cell phone he pulled from his pocket – “three in the morning? Johnny’s not even here. Spending the night with his friend what’s-his-name. I wish he wouldn’t hang out with that guy, ’cause some day Johnny’s gonna want to go to church with him, and Sunday’s my day! Sleep, football, and beer. The other six days I already get up too early and bust my ass. That’s mine.”
At first the man inside the house just heard a cold rasping, like the sound of a train’s wheels sliding across the track immediately after the brakes were fully applied. Slowly, he began to realize the figure was talking. “Hey man, clear your throat a little. I can barely understand you.”
The skeletal visage pinched inside itself and growled, and then spat a lump onto the faux wooden deck. The deck began to smoke and sizzle as the lump burned a hole through the material. “Not here for Johnny.”
“Sure you are. You’re answering my craigslist ad, right? Came to scare my kid straight? Little prick finished my last pack just before leaving to his friend’s house, and I can’t see straight enough to find my keys and go into town for another pack. Have to wait until tomorrow to get more smokes.”
“Not here for Johnny, we’re here for you. See, I’ve got a bet with goody-two-shoes -” the figure mockingly folded his hands and rolled his eyes as if he were looking to the sky and saying a prayer to somebody he resented “- about nature vs. nurture. I believe people are naturally evil, but that smug little prick – “the figure shook his gnarled claw of a hand in the same direction he sent his mock-prayer “- believes people are good on their own. Well, your kid gets to be a test case. You’ll be mine eventually anyway, so I got to come up here and pull you out of Johnny’s life. I don’t think anybody’ll give him a second look at the shitty orphanage they’ll send him to, so he’ll be left to himself to blossom into a bastard prick of the greatest potential.”
The shadow moved a little to the side and the cowering eyes began to swarm into an army on the march. The homeowner finally noticed them only when the first line of otherworldly troops appeared in the light. As on cue, each troop brought its left arm up to shade its eyes for a second, but began growling and kept marching forward after lowering the arm again. Students of history would be reminded of the children working in coal mines during the Industrial revolution, but fans of sci-fi would think about vaguely-shapen globs of flesh-eating ooze. The first line of troops seemed to trip right at the man’s feet, but his eyes shot wide when the individual black forms seemed to leak into a single puddle of smoky tar at his feet. Slowly the tar puddle grew as the man stepped away, first in confusion, then in mild fear, and finally (when advancing tar splashed onto his feet) sheer terror. He opened his mouth to scream, but ended up choking and spitting up some of the tar that was taking over his body from the inside. Two more lines of troops added their size to the growing puddle, and then the shadow on the doorstep waved his hand. Even though front line of marchers couldn’t see the motion because the shadow was behind them, they all stopped on cue. They had cowered in the darkness before their marching order and then stood and walked proud and erect like elite soldiers during the attack, and now that the march was over their pride slowly faded from their stance as each shape slunk away from the light and began cowering again in the darkness. A skeletal arm reached out from under the scarlet cloak and grasped the doorknob, pulling it closed. A sound escaped from the bony throat. If anybody had been around to hear, they wouldn’t have been able to distinguish it between a chuckle and a growl. As the door closed and the light faded, the remaining soldiers changed from cowering in darkness to whimpering out of fear and love at the fringes of the scarlet cloak. “Well done, my children.”
Eleven hours later, Johnny walked through the door. “Not even home”, he thought as he realized the house was empty. As young as he was, he didn’t notice the lingering aroma of sulfur mingling with the ever-present tobacco and cocaine smells.
…That was epic. You should be writing creepypasta or something.
I just noticed that most of my comments today are ending in exclamation points. Wow. Too much tea yesterday? Too much sugar? Too much curry chicken and rice? Well, please address all your complaints to Windrose@!!!!!.com and have a lovely day.
Ordinarily I would think you were crazy for pointing that out and believing people actually notice those things.
That I remembered what website I was on.
I think that today rates exclamations points of outrage. We all seem to be a bit horrified at the parenting demonstrated in the post. (My apologies to anyone who parents in the above illustrated method.)
Don’t worry, Angel, I really doubt those type of parents comment here.
OT: It’s kind of eerie/eery (did you know both of these words are correct?) how much YSaC is mirroring my life this week.
If tomorrow’s post is about a dentist… I may have to change my name and move. [/ot]
*heads to CL to look for dental ads*
Almost time for the Royal Wheee! 8)
kelli and ToBy, Punchity Punch Punch!
G’Night, Mommy Dearest!
Oooor the parents could simply send him to jail for a few hours. It worked for Alfred Hitchcock…
Other idea is: they can call Mark McKinney to see if he’s available… He was a good Satan in KITH lol