The Quicky Mart and Parenting Jackassery

Mikey! Mikey come here! Mikey, I said, come here! Don't do that Mikey! Mikey, Mikey, MIKEY!!!

That is what I heard for five solid motherfucking minutes minutes while I was in the Quicky Mart.

Mikey was the 3 year old who was running amok all over the goddamn QM knocking shit down while his parents, AKA, Senor Dickhead and his Whiskey Tango White Trash Ho, were getting their post methadone clinic fucking Big Gulps and Twizzlers.

Every fucking 30 seconds I heard, “Mikey, come here” like a goddamn hillbilly foghorn.

I wanted to yell “You dumb motherfucker, Take hold of that little fucking terrorist that you call Mikey and put a goddamn leash on him. Just because you turn your fat jowls and watch your crotch parasite terrorize the place while yelling Mikey every fucking thirty seconds does not make up for your lack of parenting skills douche bag“.

I chose not to because they may revoke my goddamn parole if there is one more incident because I just wanted out of there. Big Brother was coming on soon.

I paid, and stalked out of the fucking door.

I figured the parents of the motherfucking year must have finally made their purchase too because as I was unlocking my truck, Mikey the Terrorist, came tearing out of the store like a motherfucking cat that just figured out he wandered into a goddamn Chinese restaurant!

Mikey the Terrorist was headed straight towards the open parking lot and into the fucking traffic. He is 2 goddamn feet tall. He would have run right by me and not been seen by the oncoming car.

I glanced over at Whiskey Tango White Trash Ho and her compadre Senior Dickhead. I was hoping to see a look of horror as they realized the impending motherfucking impact of their prodigal son.

But, to no ones great surprise, the assholes were busy arguing over a coupon for a sleeve of motherfucking Skoal Bandits.

Because I'm not always a cold hearted bitch, I grabbed the kid with my free hand and jerked him back from running in front of the car of death that was speeding through the parking lot.

I then walked Mikey the Terrorist over to Senor Dickhead for what I thought would be a hero’s goddamn welcome.

Not so much.

Senor Dickhead just glared and said that I should get my hands off of his son.

The Fuck?

I smiled and asked if he was sure he was his son because everyone knows your ho is a carpenter's dream, if ya know what I mean? flat and easy to nail. wink wink.

Note to Self: Some jokes seem to make white trash confused and upset and want to fight.

He raised his grubby fucking fists, started to say something and.....

I kicked him square in the motherfucking nuts.

Sometimes I'm a fighter, Sometimes I’m a lover. However, what I am is a cheap bastard and I didn’t want to spill the "bigger than my fucking head" soda I just bought and was carrying in my right hand.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted. Yes, I kicked him in the balls, but in my defense, I felt threatened and just reacted.

I hope Brandon is ok and Senor Dickhead is feeling better.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Fuck you, assclowns
The dr. pepper was fucking delicious!