Bus Stop

I’m a better parent than you.

Let’s just get that right out of the way, right at the start here. If that’s upsetting, then you should probably stop reading right now. Also, if you’re reading this in a bookstore, stop being such a cheap bastard and just buy the book. If you’re considering buying it for someone else, they’ll love it. You should purchase this as a Mother’s Day present for your wife.

Now, back to me. Would you like to know the secret to parenting? Here’s the secret that you’re not gonna find in that dopey book that my wife loves. Ready? You need a brain. That’s it! You just need a brain, and I’m pretty sure that most of you aren’t using yours otherwise your kids wouldn’t be such a mess. Do you realize because of your collective stupidity I can’t go back to the bus stop? I’ve got a pretty high tolerance for your shit, but enough is enough.

Actually, I have a really low tolerance for this shit, but that’s beside the point.

Granted, I don’t like people in general, and I especially don’t like any of you standing there at the bus stop with your coffee. My mother still scolds my kids and I when we mention the word hate.

“We don’t hate, we strongly dislike.”

Bullshit. I hate a lot of things, and the collective group of you people is one of those things. You all really need to get together and have a group death somewhere, preferably somewhere it will be televised, so I can rip it, pirate it, and put it up on YouTube labeled “Greatest Thing Ever”. As of late, I’ve been sending my daughter alone to the bus stop because the collective suckitude of you people, and it brings me close to a grand mal seizure. Do you know how dopey your kids are? Your kids are so dopey that they have to hire someone to get out of the bus and look underneath it to make sure that your genius doesn’t decide to check the oil before the bus starts rolling. Listen up all you Mom’s and Dad’s of the Year, because I’m going to tell you exactly what your problems are.

Problem 1: You name your kids with the predestination to become an asshole.
I had a video shoot a few weeks back with 3 toddlers. After the scheduling took place, and I wanted to rip my eyes out, I arrived on-set to “meet” each of the kids. Meet is a bad word; I was actually there to judge them. In any event, do you know what these kid’s names were? First kid: Branton. BRANTON. Congratulations Mom, you’ve just named your kid a typo. Second kid: Enri. Another typo, and a French one at that. Last kid: Bruce. Know which kid was the best? Bruce. He’s got a regular goddamn name, so he wins.

The same naming convention goes on with you people at the Bus Stop. Your kid’s name is Tayluh and I only know this because you yell it the whole time without any directions. Forget that Tayluh is pissing off your dog; you just feel the need to remind him what his name is over, and over again as loudly as possible.

Then there’s Kaden, and you have a sister named January. I hate to break it to you kids, but your mom hates you. Kaden isn’t even a name, and January is a month. I also happen to know for a fact January, that you were born in May. People, your kids are not going to be different or special just because you named them something weird. This leads me to your next problem.

Problem 2: Nobody’s special, especially your kids.
You might as well hear this from me: your kids are not special, only mine are. All of the soccer games, and the baseball meets where EVERYONE WINS is only screwing them up even more. Sometimes your kids are going to lose, and it’s probably going to happen more than when they win. So when it’s time to line up for the bus, and everyone’s screaming, “I’m First!” please let someone be first in line. Making the collective decision between yourselves that in fact, nobody’s first is going to confuse even the smartest among those kids. The times it has happened, every kid at the bus stop froze, and the fabric of space-time began to unravel. I guess I’m the first person to let you in on this little paradox, but there’s a first for everything. Unless you’re all gonna stand in a circle, someone has to be first.

Problem 3: Unless you’d like me to, you’re going to have to reprimand your kids.
Apparently your Parenting 101 book told you the best way to train your kids (and that’s what it is, training, make no bones about it) are to yell their names. I’m looking at you, Tayluh’s Mom. Maybe bringing your cocaine addicted dog to the bus stop isn’t the greatest of ideas. While you’re at it, bring some candy for everyone, so we can all get a sugar high.

There’s a tree in the front yard where the bus arrives. Guess what? It’s not your tree. So you really should tell your kids to get off the tree. I know, I’ve heard the same thing, the tree’s owner is an asshole, but the tree looks sadder than a weeping willow because your chimps are hanging from it. The tree didn’t do anything to your kids, so leave it alone. My favorite part is when you ask me for a donation for a gift for the tree’s owner, for putting up with your kids.

How about no.

Problem 4: Guess what, you can say NO.
I’m looking at you, Mother of the Year. Just because your two precious angels want to ride their Big Wheels up the street to the bus stop, does not mean they should. Granted, the sight of you carrying those two things back down the street after the bus leaves may be the greatest thing ever, but knock it off. You look like a bizzaro episode of The Incredible Hulk where instead of Bill Bixby walking down the street, you look like a sad, green Lou Ferrigno carrying 2 motorcycles.

Also, leave the toys at home, especially the baseball bats. Your fruity kids aren’t playing baseball at the bus stop; they’re pretending they’re some gay Pokemon character with a sword. Pokemon. And while you’re at it, you should probably say no to all of those dopey cartoons they watch like Fairly Odd Parents and SpongeBob. Show them a real cartoon like Bugs Bunny, or Batman.

In closing, I would normally impart the advice that I give to most people, but I think it’s going to be lost on you. My kids are awesome, because you have to raise them to be as cool as you are. Unfortunately, you’re not cool, so you’re kids aren’t going to be cool.

If I were you I’d start prepping them for a life of mediocrity, and name-calling.