I don’t know why there suddenly seems to be such an endless plague of little kids accosting people outside of store entrances lately. Every friggin time I go get gas or roll to the grocery store there’s some little snot nose pestering me about some god-awful vomit-flavored cookies or candies or some other horseshit. It’s getting to the point where I’m trying to inconspicuously slip in and out of stores like a cat burgler just to avoid the shrill cries of the goddamn Children of the Corn.
I don’t really notice any unifying theme between this ragtag army of pee pants. It’s not like strictly girl scouts or little leaguers bothering adults; it seems like the whole damn school system has regurgitated a militia of cherubic anklebiters to infest the streets and assault the previously blissful moods of customers.
Because the worst part about the bed-wetting brigade is how they either A. Make you feel like shit for blowing them off or B. Make you pissed that you wasted money on their dumb little ass. There’s literally no positive outcome possible…like when a Republican gets elected.
So I’ve finally resorted to just telling them straight up. The last time I strolled into Mobile, I immediately marched over to the little impish pigtailed girl behind a giant table of boxed items and said, “Look Shirly Shitstains, I don’t give a flying ass how adorable you are, I only got ten bucks and it’s all going in my goddamn gas tank. No amount of Bambi-eyeing is gonna make any difference. Is your little ass gonna push me home when I pull a Mad Stupid Jason Epstein and run outta gas on the highway? No, you’ll be too busy at home counting your pile of grown folks’ hard-earned moolah. Now here comes a life lesson for ya…”
And with that, I flipped her table over and bolted from the premises laughing hysterically.