I swear to God, there is almost no type of person who pisses me off more than whiny, bitchy parents. To be honest, this rant started as a tome against those “sports” parents who manage to achieve the supreme ranks of assholiusness by insisting their palsied little klutz is the greatest thing to hit (insert sport the kid sucks at here) since (insert icon for said sport here).
We all know that parent; the one who screams at their kid for two solid hours, all because daddy couldn’t make it past JV tight end. There was a time in my life when I coached youth sports, and I quit doing so because I knew eventually I would kill one of these shit-loafs who calls his own kid a “fag” because he dropped a fly ball.
Some time later, little did I know that I would find another type of parent which I hate more. I didn’t think it was possible, but I have discovered that I can’t stand those parents who both need you to think parenthood is some sort of noble act and feel a compulsive need to make sure you know how much their lives have been destroyed by something they volunteered for.
I usually love to read Drew Magary’s rants on Deadspin, but he loses me here as I found out he is one of these parents. The following is another patented Dubsism-style breakdown of Magary’s whining about parenthood.
May has started, which means that we’re quickly running out of May and I don’t want May to end because that means summer is here and OH FUCK GOD PLEASE NOT AGAIN.
You childless people don’t understand summer. You think summer is so awesome because you get to wear skimpy clothing and rent out timeshares in some beach town and throw parties where you hollow out an ice luge and all your buddies take turns CRUSHING Firewater shots. Well, fuck you. Enjoy summer while you can, before it turns on you and digs its heel into your ASS.
First of all, fuck you right back, Drew. Parenthood is a choice. Don’t get all bitchy at me because you decided to do to your life what Daniel Snyder has done to the Washington Redskins. Nobody stuck a gun to your head, grabbed your dick, and jammed it into your wife. See, the one thing I know about myself is that I would make an absolutely terrible father. That means one the reasons why I made the decision not to be one is not because I know I would be likely to produce a serial killer or worse yet, some sort of Kardashian, but because I know I would totally be that guy who is pulling this exact sort of crybaby bullshit.
My kid’s school ends in the second week of June, and after that I’m DEAD. I am no longer living. Just rip my spine out and use it for suspension bridge cable, because having a child out of school is like having your home invaded by 17 bats. WHERE ARE THEY?! WHAT ARE THEY DOING?! THEY GOT INTO THE SUGAR JAR NOOOOOOO!
If you have young kids, there’s no recourse for you. Shockingly, there are NO summer day camps that last from the last day of school to the first, and there should be. Day camps go on a week-by-week schedule and they cost a FORTUNE. You’ll pay $500 a week for astronaut camp and your kid will be there from 9-10:30 three days a week watching old film-strip summaries of Disney’s The Black Hole. It’s worthless. And you can’t send your kids to overnight camp because they aren’t ready for it yet. My folks once sent my sister to overnight camp for eight weeks when she was, like, 7. To this day, she still reams them out over it. But I totally understand their methodology.
With all due respect Drew, because normally I love your rants, but fuck you again. You either should have known the job was dangerous when you took it, or you didn’t do the required reading. All I had to do to know I could never hack parenthood is to look at people who had kids. They all look like extras from the “Walking Dead;” complete with the sunken, sleep-deprived eyes, shuffling “please shoot me in the face” gait, and ragged clothing perfumed by the pungent aroma of puke and/or baby shit and not the foul stench of death (yet). All this means because you didn’t understand exactly what you were getting into, you think you get to make the same justification your parents did to ship your kids off to Camp Sandusky, where the likelihood that something horrible can happen to them is A-OK with you so long as you can get a weekend pretending you are a drunken, degenerate college student again.
You can try and take your kids to the pool, but every public pool is overcrowded and populated with fat people who buy all the chocolate éclairs from the ice cream guy before you have a chance to. Or you can join a country club for $80,000 a summer, which everyone can totally afford. Even local pool clubs charge hundreds or thousands of dollars for membership and have endless waiting lines. And if you join a pool, it doesn’t improve things because you have to spend every second at the pool making sure your kids don’t drown or that they don’t get splashed in the face by some punk teenager doing can openers in the shallow end. THAT IS NOT A SAFE JUMPING AREA, YOU TWAT.
Chocolate éclairs at the pool? Really? Now I know why you had kids. Any man who eats chocolate éclairs at the pool is obviously only a few credits shy of his degree from Gay University, and we all know there’s a ton of men out their hiding their “Rainbow” flag behind a wife and kids.
Not to mention, that “punk twat teenager” started out as a kid just like yours. Twat teenagers come from twat parents… never forget that. I’m not saying this will necessarily happen to your kid, Drew, but this Nancy-Boy rant of yours really isn’t a good indicator of where things are headed at the Magary household.
And you can’t go to any movies because all the good movies are PG-13, and your kids are too delicate to be subjected to them. My mom saw Avengers before I did. For real. She sent me an email this morning calling it, “Excitement personified.” Because my mom is apparently Larry King. Goddammit I wanna see that shit.
Which takes us to another time I had to call out a guy of whom I am usually am a huge fan. A while back, Dan Patrick told a story on his radio show about taking one of his daughters to see the movie “Black Swan.” Again, this is simply a case of not doing the required reading. First of all, any movie about ballerinas is bound to be messed up because ballerinas are messed up. Face it, every ballerina on the planet is an eating-disordered, performance-anxiety charged toe-standing ball of neurosis. Secondly, ballet is messed up in and of itself; every ballet ever written is about murder, suicide, incest, or any of a hundred other not-so-family friendly topics. So, even if you didn’t read up on how disturbing this movie is, you should have known that going to ANY movie about ballet was a risky proposition. Therefore, I have no sympathy for anybody who didn’t do their homework and ended up sitting next to their 14-year old daughter through two hours of suicidal visions, masturbation, and lesbian sex. What did we learn, Dan? Learn what you are getting into before you get into it.
School should be year-round. It should begin at 8 in the morning, go till 6 at night, and there should NEVER be any days off. Not weekends. Not holidays. Not for some bullshit teacher conference that I know is just an orgy at a local Days Inn. And definitely not for the hottest three months of the year, when everyone is sweating and crowding each other and being horrible. School should always be there to pick up my kids, whisk them away, and dump them back off. FOR FREE. None of this, “Hey, let’s take three months off so parents can have quality time with their kids!” nonsense. That’s crap. If I wanted to spend three months with a child, I would get a Jersey Shore share with Daulerio. Summer must be destroyed forever.
Now for the part that really pisses me off. Just because you fired a nail gun into your own face, you want me to bleed with you. Fuck you number three, Drew. If you didn’t want to spend three months with a child, then don’t have one. Why don’t you get all the other parents together and create boarding schools so you can all enjoy the perks of destroying your wives via pregnancy without having to deal with those Faustian, blood-sucking little nightmares you made? It’s bad enough I have to deal with all your little bastards when you let them run loose in every neighborhood in America; you aren’t getting into my wallet for it as well.
In other words, you signed up for this duty. Quit your bitching, pay for your own mistakes, and stop hating me because I did my homework.