stop dressing your kids like theyre fucking lawyers

so i was at work the other day and this teenaged boy, obviously mentally challenged/ or handicapped/ or retarded/ or whatever the fuck we call "them" now, busted through the double doors and screamed- in that blood curdling style that only a teenaged mentally whatevered boy could do- MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and the mother reacted as she does probably sixty four times a day, like it was just another hiccup in the days events, but the rest of the store...oh that was a different story all together. it seems that marblehead mothers and their expensively swaddled little children all named griffin, or phoenix, or jesus, or after someones last name that they might admire like rove, or carusoe, or kennedy or some fucked up shit like that apparently dont get to see too many mentally whatevered teenage boys, as simultaneously three hundred or so rich twats shit their expensive knickers and leapt four feet in the air. upon their groundly arrival the collective thud was loud enough so that every bmw, lexus, mercedes, and land rover's alarm begun to sound, that being every car in the lot i can tell you it was a massive cacophony of beeps and buzzes.
this got me to thinking though as inevitably every child in that store would ask that burning question to their mother, or nanny, or au pair, or whomever. and that question as we all know is this, "what's wrong with that boy?" and the mothers responses would be something like this, "oh griffin, he's a very special boy, but he shouldnt be treated differently in anyway...blah blah circle of life disney movie bullshit blah blah. but I know... I get it. and if i could in my power to one day be that old curmudgeonly bastard who says whatever the fuck is on his feeble mind, than i would tell that kid this-
"look son, when god is picking mommies for little babies HE decides who is strong enough to deal with a tough life and who is not. you see only HE understands that everything we go through everyday is a test of our makeup and ourselves, and some people are better equipped to deal with blind spots on the car of life, or in this case, fucking ape shit teenaged mentally handicapped young boys. you see you got lucky when you were born, that golden laced vaginal chute that you dropped out of was especially chosen for you as both you and your mommy and daddy are emotional pussies and will never have to deal with anything like what that strong once probably beautiful woman goes through every moment of her life. so remember this when youre on the playground one day soon and you decide to get some marblehead street cred by picking on the easiest prey, like that boy over there you fucking soon to be popped collar little douche. remember these words forever."
and then i would scream into his face for a good two minutes, just to really drive the point home, ya know? and all this hatred and repressed anger because of two little things. and i swear this- if parents didnt dress their kids in those fucking croc shoes or the latest keens style or in better clothes than i wear than i would be fine. but jesus-fuckin-christ-on-a-popsicle-stick no!!!! little manson needs to keep up with little blair down the street and just needs those little cufflinks and matching little ascot.
*-needle pierces skin-*
bah!!!! whatever. i feel much better now. thank you doctor.
the end.