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Thursday, December 24, 2009

I'll Show You Magic

Christmas Eve is finally here. And, after weeks of anticipation you can't imagine how happy we all are.

I will be off celebrating (aka playing Santa like a mofo and throwin' down in this biotch) and will not be back until Monday with another ifriend for dat a** (not sure why I'm all Snoop D-)-double g with it today, it's a phase I go through from time to time: Gangsta Ma is what I like to call it.).

On that note, today's Thursday Thank You is gonna be all gangsta, sent special to a neighborhood punk kid.

I shoved it in a bottle, lit it on fire, and threw it at his house so I'll have to just type what it said here for you.*

It wasn't handwritten anyway (I know, I'm sorry), but, in an effort to keep myself outta the clink anonymous, I went ahead and did one of those every-letter-ripped-from-a-magazine-and-glued-to-a-sheet-of-nondescript-white-paper numbers while wearing cloth white gloves and a sterile suit (those CSIers are pretty amazing these days).

So here it is, thank you and you're welcome.

Dear Creepy Kid,

I think even you have to admit that I have been more than nice to you since we moved here. I mean, you have a reputation. Not just you, but your entire family, and (in case you didn't know) it proceeds you by quite a distance. So, when you wandered into my yard our first summer here wearing just shorts, combat boots, and a beebee gun and attempted to assassinate me, I smiled and offered you a lemonade. And then, when you were kind enough to teach my kindergartener and my 3 year old the word bitch by shouting, "I HATE YOU BITCHES!" down the street at them,* I forgave you and chalked it up to the fact that your parents are drunk, stoners who obviously don't have very high standards for your behavior. I shook my head, gave you the stink eye, and moved on, after telling my children what a nasty mouth loser you would grow up to be, of course. And, let's not forget the hatchet incident. The list goes on and on, and still, when my sweet, forgiving, naive-to-a-fault son invited you over to play Wii one day, I opened my door to you, gagged a little at your ripe smell, let you in and offered you snacks (and they were the good, individually wrapped kind, too). I didn't even wrestle you outta your disgustingly muddy boots; just let you Wii it up in them all over my living room floor. Never mind that I'm still not convinced you didn't steal the five spot I had lying on the counter. Point is, I've given you the benefit of the doubt time and time again. I didn't bum rush you and smash your annoying little plaything into a million pieces when you pulled it on me in my own yard. And, I didn't push you down and threaten to scrub the sh#* offa your filthy little tongue the day you taught my children how to curse like a sailor. It's not like I didn't want to. Because I totally did, but instead I let it slide. You know, because your parents suck and I felt kinda sorry for you and crap. But, guess what Mr. Nasty. Them days are ova. You've gone too far. You have pushed the things-dumb-mom-will-take-from-unfortunate-children envelope too far. Hate to go all street on you, but telling my kid Santa ain't real is just plain evil. Don't hate on his happiness just because Santa's never bothered to come your way. Maybe you'd have a little more luck with that if you weren't running around like some sorta wood imp shooting at random strangers and calling their children bitches. Just sayin'. Your life may be devoid of magic (and the puff the magic dragon type you have goin' on at your house doesn't count), but that doesn't mean that his is, and you had no right to try to ruin it with your mean words and your potty mouth. Take your hatchet, and your beebee gun, and your oversized boots, and your strange smelling hair and STEP OFF!. Keep your ugly to yourself, kid and give me back my five bucks! Don't let me catch you on the street. Santa may not be the truth, but I am, and I'll show you what it's like to be on a naughty list that matters. Break yourself, fool!

*Kidding! Totally kidding. I didn't actually light the bottle, I just left it on the door step as sort of a warning. Gangsta.

Merry Christmas, yo!


BJ_Mama said...

Oh, PBD, you crack me UP! Did you have a little dog poo in that flamin' bag too? You shoulda!

BJ_Mama said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
parentingBYdummies said...

BJ Mama: It wasn't a bag. It was a bottle. Molotov cocktail style. Sometimes, I think, violence is the answer.

angie said...

Merry Christmas.

He sounds like a nightmare. Pure and simple. You put up with a lot. Shaking head. Sad.

You did the right thing drawing the line. :)

singedwingangel said...

ooo girl I am with you. Only I am one of those mamas that woulda been knockingon his door infroming his parents of their failure in duties as well.. Ya knwo what is sad though, the fact that if you and I were to allow our kids to act like that in public social services would have been in our homes taking our kids like white on rice. No questions asked. and the ones who obviously need the help get blatently ignored. *sighs the system sucks

4 Lettre Words said...

You are truly the coolest mom I know. (And, I actually know a lot.)

Can't wait 'til that kid gets his arse kicked hard by someone really cute...that smells good!

Miss Dot said...

Kudos to you for putting up with it so long! I'm with BJ_Mama -- was there any flaming dog poo?? You coulda put it in (or around?) the bottle...

In regards to the "no Santa" situation, just do the Dear Virginia thing.

Merry Christmas to you and your freaking awesome kids that I love so much and kinda wish they were mine but also am kinda glad that I just look at them in pictures. Oh, and Dumb Dad, too.

Rita/Fighting Off Frumpy said...


Charlene said...

I may need to have you pen a letter for me as well. Too funny. Stopping by from SITS. Merry Christmas!

Anonymous said...

lol way to go. spoiling santa for others is just mean :-(

Adrian's Crazy Life said...

That's just sad. Some people should just not be allowed to have children. Sorry they have to live in your neighborhood. Merry SITSmas.

Traci said...

Merry Christmas, yo!

No one should be stepping on someone else's magic so you were right to tell him to step off!

I love that you say what I think! :-)

Stacy (the Random Cool Chick) said...

AHAHAHAHAHA! You've got style! ;)

Wishing you a Very Merry Christmas! :)

Kmama said...

OMG, hilarious!! You are an awesome writer. Merry Christmas!

Shannon said...

LMAO right now! It's really hard to see kids who are a product of their families' neglect! I think you have gone above and beyond by being nice.. now... unfortunately... he cannot be allowed at your place! MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Charisse said...

I am back in bloggy land. And I love this post. EFFING hilarious. bad kids are often just products of their parents shit bag ways. It sucks that it has to be that way and that he was such a douche-bag to your kids. Yes, I just called a kiddo a douche bag. What? I can get gangsta, too. LOL

Jennifer said...

How is it poosible that this kid lives in every nighborhhod?

Michelle said...

Oh no! Your neighbors sound horrible.

We have a neighbor boy who I feel sorry for but he is generally well behaved. When he had a sleepover with my son I did ask him to shower before bed because the stench was too much to handle and I could not imagine him crawling under the sheets like that. Poor kid!

Anonymous said...

Are you kidding? What a little punk. You feel sorry for the kid, but that only goes so far. As in before it hurts your kids. Totally sucks.

Karen said...

I was already enjoying this post, but the last line: "Santa may not be the truth, but I am, and I'll show you what it's like to be on a naughty list that matters. Break yourself, fool!" SERIOUSLY cracked me up.

I just hate that there are little punk kids like this out there corrupting the good ones. But that's nice of you to let him into your house. Even if it did cost you 5 bucks!

Hope you had a Merry Christmas!

Giving away two copies of the movie Extract starring Jason Bateman and Ben Affleck. Contest ends 4/2/10.
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