Hey fatso, listen to your f*cking mother, will you? Wait. What? Oh. That's right.
Your f*cking mother is too busy staring off into space ignoring your Mighty-Morphin-Power-Ranger-cookie-eating existence while you, you little hooligan, you keep swatting at her arm screaming "NOOOOOOOOOO NOOOO NOOO NOOOOO NOOOO I WANTED THAT!" over and f*cking over again.
Mom, next time your kid screams like that at the supermarket, maybe look him dead in the eyes and say something like, I don't know, like maybe: "QUIET. YOU KEEP THIS UP, I BEAT YOU OVER THE HEAD FOR ALL TO SEE WITH THAT US MAGAZINE THAT NICE MAN IS HOLDING AND WALKING TOWARD US WI-- WAIT. OW! WHY, NICE MAN, ARE YOU BEATING ME OVER THE HEAD WITH THE US MAGAZINE??? OW!
Because your kid is bothering me and the five other people in the express line who are tired and hungry and just want to go home. Quietly.
Next time, the kid gets it. With a wooden spoon or, well, probably just another dirty look glare, which is a fantastic band name, but whatever.
Kid needs to shut the eff up or somebody's gonna get his ass whooped in high school. A lot. Nobody likes whiny fat kids who demand things and pummel their mothers in food lines. Nobody.
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