I need a paintball gun (with ammo) so I can hurt, but not permanently disfigure, a kid – not a little kid being an adorable knucklehead, mind you… a teenager.
A pimply faced 14-year-old teenager whose only life goals right now are scoring porn to relieve his carnal urges (it’ll fall off if you keep doing that!) … and wreaking havoc on other people’s property.
On our morning run, the husband and I witnessed this habitual onanist loitering on a curb with his equally sinful comrades as they waited for a bus to take them to a school that my taxpayer dollars fund (and I will never use). As we were jogging along, our nation’s future swaggered out into the middle of our peaceful suburban street and deposited a Dr. Pepper can on the yellow lines.
“DUDE, DON’T LITTER! PICK IT UP! I SAW YOU PUT THAT CAN IN THE STREET AND IT’S GONNA GET ALL OVER SOMEONE’S CAR!”
“IT’S NOT FULL,” he whined (like he’d just been busted by his Mom in the bathroom, “I wasn’t doing anything.”)
“DOESN’T MATTER – YOU’RE STILL A LITTERBUG. PICK IT UP!”
He made some motions toward the can and made some faces toward me – accompanied by some one-fingered salutes and some choice words referring to me as a “bat-shit crazy old lady.” It is a badge I now wear with honor as I approach my 40th birthday – though I can’t say if said knuckle-dragger actually did pick up the can because we still had 20 minutes to go and were already running late and there were three of them and just two of us, though I can say that my MOST EPIC REVENGE FANTASY EVER did fuel the second half of my run… until I got side stitches and slowed down.
Read on… unless you believe “What about the children?” is a reasonable thing to ask of any politician…
SCENE: A peaceful morning in a quiet North Scottsdale neighborhood. Wrapped in a spandex Ninja costume, a pushing-40 legend of hotness with perky boobs runs by (at a 8-minute per mile clip – hey, it’s my revenge fantasy). Three pimply faced delinquents malinger on a corner, waiting for the short-bus that will take them to the Ninja’s taxpayer-funded, neighborhood educational institution – where these three Stooges of Stupid will likely spend the day tormenting husky children and leering at girls.
Spent from his morning session of self-abuse, one knuckle-dragger shuffles toward the middle of the street and places a DNA-covered Dr. Pepper can in the road.
POW! POW! POW! The knuckle-dragger doubles over, clutching his groin – which is sprouting bright pink and green splats of paintball pain. The Ninja holsters her weapon and motions to the Dr. Pepper can, its contents seeping toward the acne-clad face and Justin Bieber concert T-shirt of the perpetrator.
“DON’T LITTER, MOTHERFUCKER!”
“You stupid, bat-shit crazy bitch! What did you do to him?” his compatriots squealed.
POP! POP! POP! POP! Belly shot! Butt shot! Shin tag! Forehead ping! The Ninja unloads her cartridge on Moe and Larry, who try to shield themselves with their backpacks, now dripping with yellow, purple and baby blue carnage.
“PICK IT UP, MOTHERFUCKERS – OR I’LL MAKE SURE YOU NEVER FEEL THE PLEASURE OF A WOMAN’S TOUCH,” the Ninja says, sighting in her gun to make Pollacks of their bollocks.
She spits on the sidewalk and motions to their blubbering companion, curled in a fetal position in the middle of the road.
“And pick up that trash in the street, too – he’s gonna get hit by a car. DON’T LITTER.”
AND… SCENE.
Actually, what really happened is that Pat and I realized we had gotten old in our old age. I mean, this bat-shit crazy old lady once planted 1,000 plastic forks in a friend’s yard when I was 14 – and that grumpy old man used to manufacture improvised explosive devices using dry ice, water and Sparklett’s bottles. But still, we did these things under the cover of darkness and subterfuge (like Ninjas) – NOT RIGHT IN FRONT OF PASSERS-BY where everyone can see your budding delinquency, and thus is compelled to bring it to your attention because it takes a village to raise these numbskulls… or so they tell us.
“Kids just don’t know how to be destructive anymore,” Pat said. “They’re too stupid.”
“Seriously, where’s the creativity?” I sighed.
Personally, I think these worthless excuses for misguided youth are the reason vasectomies were invented… which is why I need to borrow a paintball gun (with ammo) so I can prevent them from spreading (rather than just spilling) their seed. Again, I don’t want to permanently disfigure them – I just want to hurt them.