The Newborn

Eeehh eeehhh…

Please don’t do it. I just finally knocked myself out with a scotch and Claritin D combo. (Which by the way is not good for the heart. Don’t try this at home.)

Eeehh…

Dude, I would pay you not to do it….

WAAAA!!! WAAA!!! WAAAAA!!!

Fantastic. What time is it? 5 A.M. Well I guess in rural America you have the rooster’s crow. In New York City, you get the relentless cries of a foreign newborn, who just so happens to reside across from my conveniently open bedroom window. Sure I could close the window, pop on the AC, and pump up some Led Zeppelin on my itunes. But, Con Edison’s monopolistic power has what I like to call a chokehold on my budget. Let me wait this one out…again.

WAAA!! WAAA!! WAAAA!!!

Like come on, seriously? I don’t even hear the jitters in this thing’s excruciating screeches. Shouldn’t there be some jitters from the parent bouncing the thing around in his/her arms? Or a suffocating pause from a bottle being force-fed down its mouth? Give me something I can work with here. Does anyone even live over there?

Maybe the baby is actually living down in the ally. Should I call social services? Although then I would actually have to hold some sort of responsibility and actually act like I care about the child’s well being. When in fact the only being I care for is…myself. Kidding! (kinda.)

WAAA!! WAAA!! EeeHee!!! WAAA!!!

Was that a hesitation in between the “Waa?” Please tell me you’re tiring out, because God knows those neglectful parents aren’t going to put out your cries for help. Who let’s their newborn cry throughout the night? I’m actually considering walking outside, switching buildings, rocking the damn baby in my own arms, shutting it the fuck up, and walking back to my bed for precious sleep.

Comfort the damn thing! Put a pacifier in its mouth! Hell, give it up for adoption for all I care. But, for Christ’s sake shut it the hell up!
Eeehh!! Ekkk!! Ekkk…ee…e…

Wait for it…could it be? I don’t hear it. Thank you! There is a God! My pounding headache thanks you for allowing me the next half hour of peaceful sleep. Yes, I know it’ll only be for a half hour, but you’ve blessed me with this rare gift of peace, and for that I am thankful. Let this be a warning to always wear protection, and never have a child until I can afford for someone else to take care of him.

Uggh! I can’t go back to sleep now. What time is it? It’s after 6? The sun is out now. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Eh, I guess I’ll treat myself to some McDonald’s breakfast. Let me just find my basketball shorts…

Eeeehh…Ehhhh….

Yea, yea, go ahead. What do I care now? The damage is already done. Cry away ya stubborn bastard.

WAAAAA!!! WAAA!!!!! WAAAA!!!!

The Construction Worker

I commend you for your hard work. I don’t know how you can operate such heavy machinery in this weather. Please, take a break. Somebody get that man a drink. There’s a street vendor right around the corner. Why don’t you take a break, grab some chicken over rice while you’re at it. I’m not sure what the white sauce is that they squirt on there, but I whole-heartedly recommend it. Then, when you return, come back and have a seat with your fellow coworkers. Whistle at some broads while you’re at it, but don’t make it too cliché.

I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what it is that you are working on. I could’ve sworn I saw you guys here two months ago. This must be an arduous project. Good thing you put up this temporary path so pedestrians can squeeze through on their way to work. Don’t worry about the massive slush puddles along the way; focus on the main project at hand. We’ll deal with that. How’s the chicken? The white sauce makes it, right?

Boy I’d like to bring her home, huh? Everybody agrees, right? What an ass on her. Her skirt almost blew up like Marilyn Monroe over the manhole. Tony likes manholes? Gross! Oh, it’s a joke – I get it. Yo Tony, did you hear what Jose said about you and the manholes. Got to love that joke. Is there something you want to tell us? I’m only kidding. I’ve seen the girls you’ve brought home – real winners.

Man, I’m getting tired just looking at you. What time is your break over? No, don’t rush, I was just curious. I would take my time if I were you. It’s not like you’re getting paid by the hour or anything. God forbid if they paid you overtime too. Oh, this is overtime? Double-time? So you get paid twice your regular salary? My goodness – you guys better get back to work then.

I’m still not even sure what it is that you’re working on. But, I know how it’s intense. It would have to be a big project if its been going on for more than a month. Five months? God bless you guys. Oh, you’re going on a coffee break? Didn’t you just have a two hour lunch break? I mean this isn’t Mad Men. Is this Mad Men? It’s a show about an ad agency in the…never mind. I’ll let you guys get back to your coffee break.

By the way, what’s the estimated completion date for this project? December? Wasn’t that four months ago? No, I understand. I was just curious. Please, don’t let me bother you anymore. I’ll just take the temporary sidewalk.

God damn it! Can someone get rid of these puddles? Now my socks are all wet. They’re going to be scrunching all day. My feet are going to be wrinkled like an old man’s. No, I wasn’t blaming you guys. I’ll be back for your next break. Oh, you’re done for the day? Well, see you again tomorrow.

The Hot Chick

I can’t remember why I got out of bed today. My Asian neighbors are in the hallway screaming in…Asian? I can’t write. I can’t even keep my eyes open. If it wasn’t for the screaming I’d be in bed sleeping. What time is it anyway? Oh shit. It’s 2P.M. Well, this has been a productive day. Let’s see, I brushed my teeth…I…That’s all I did. I need to get out of here.

I still can’t remember why I awoke in the first place. Maybe a coffee will lift my spirits. I’ll have to try the local café…

Sweet Jesus of Nazareth. She could be the hottest girl on the planet. Suddenly my reasoning for getting up and going out has been quickly brought to my attention. Heart rate increasing. Sweating profusely. Nerves…nerving? Oh my God, she’s so hot. Please look at me. Is she looking at me? She could be pretending not to look at me, but secretly is looking at me in the corner of her eye. I bet that’s what she’s doing. I’ll just casually turn toward her and show her I notice her disguised gaze.

OK, so she’s reading a novel. Yes, I know, you’re way out of my league. You’re perfect. You’re absolutely one hundred percent my type. Why should you look at me? Was that a look? Fuck.

Alright, I’m going to sit down and enjoy this coffee. I’ll put her out of mind. She isn’t even real. She doesn’t exist. I have to look. She’s so hot. OK, one more quick look then back to the coffee. Are you kidding me? That is the sexiest body I’ve ever seen. Do you have any idea how hot you are? Who the hell made you? A God of some sort?

Come on, really? How could you not have noticed me for like at least a second. I’m good enough for a one second look over. I’m not repulsive. In fact, I’ve been told how cute I am on several occasions. One look. Go ahead. Was that a look? What the fuck? How good can that book possibly be? What are you reading? I can’t read the title. Let me just squint and see what you’re reading.

No! No, I wasn’t staring at you. I wanted to see what you were reading! Please don’t give me that look. I just wanted to know what you were reading. Great! Now she thinks I’ve been sitting here gawking at her, and thinking about her this entire time. That’s preposterous. I’m just enjoying my coffee. Do you honestly think you’re that hot that I would want to stare at you this whole time?

Wait a second. Was twirling of the hair with your left hand a sign? Are you subconsciously telling me that you appreciate the stare and maybe even find me attractive in some way? I may be on to something here. I know! I’ll grab a copy of The Onion. She’ll see me laughing and enjoying the articles, and subsequently know that I have a great sense of humor. Hot chicks love that, right?

Oh man this article that I’m reading is so funny. Hey, look at me laughing at this article. I’m not laughing too hard, but enough to know that I have a sophisticated, witty sense of humor. Nothing over the top. After all, this is the Onion – not Jay Leno.

Ugh, I can’t believe how perfect her face is. How can you have flawless bone structure, gorgeous eyes, luscious lips, in addition to that body? Stop reading that damn book! Acknowledge me!

I need to walk over there. That’s it! I’m just going to walk over and say something to her. No, I shouldn’t bother her. She’s reading her book. Her boyfriend is probably working hard on Wall Street. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here wasting my day in a café staring at his prize. I knew I should have switched majors to finance.

That was totally a sign. You deliberately crossed your legs in my direction. It wasn’t a crazy Sharon Stone cross, but it was most certainly a “Hey, look at my legs” cross. Well, I noticed it baby. Don’t you worry. You don’t think I have the balls to get up and walk over there? Well, watch this.

I can’t do it. Why do I have to initiate the conversation? Why can’t you? I bet you haven’t had the courtesy to initiate one conversation in your entire life. Everyone comes up to you. How spoiled you are. You know what? I’m not going to be like every other guy. I’m going to sit here and ignore you for the rest of the day. I’ve seen better. You’re average at best. Back to The Onion.

“Excuse me. Do you know if there’s an outlet in here?” the beauty asked.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic! Is there an outlet in here? What is she really insinuating? Is this an innuendo? She is definitely just trying to open a conversation with me. I knew it! If you ignore her, she will come. I win!
“Ugh, I’m not sure. What do you need an outlet for?”

“My computer. OK, I’ll just ask the waitress.”

Is that it? Do you want to talk some more? Wait, don’t go!

“What are you reading?”

“The Lost Symbol.”

What the hell is that? I don’t read real novels. Why did I even ask that? I don’t have a follow up question for that.

“Who wrote that?”

“Dan Brown.”

What an idiot. I should have known that. He’s the most popular writer in the past five years. Of course I haven’t read any of his novels. The movies sucked. I’m done. She’s leaving. Holy shit, she is even hotter standing up. I can’t take it. I need to do something. I’m getting out of here. No, don’t leave. Man up.
“Do you want to have some coffee?”

“I just had a cup.”

“Oh, me too.”

She’s laughing. That was a cute joke. She likes it. I’m so in.
“So, do you live around here?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“Down the street.”

“Cool. What are you writing?”

“It’s a book. Mostly comedy.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Did you see The Hangover?”

Oh come on! How can people think that’s funny?! Don’t even get me started. I have to lie to her. I’m not losing her over this. I will forego my pride and pretend I enjoyed the movie.
“Great movie!” (with fake smile.)

“Oh my God, right? My boyfriend hated it! He’s more into like Woody Allen, Larry David, and all that other smart, funny stuff.”

And that’s it. You’ve officially shattered my heart. You have a boyfriend and he has a real appreciation for comedy. I can’t even be mad at him. If only we had met before you started dating him. I could’ve bored you with those Woody Allen movies. I could’ve pretended to like The Hangover with you. I could’ve disappointed you in bed.

“Are you OK?”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“You look upset.”

“Nope. Fine.”

And that was that. She broke my heart. She broke my heart. You’re not even that hot. What’s with that mole thing on your face? Your nose is pretty crooked too. By the way, don’t you work? My God your arms are flabby. I’m getting out of here. Why is she even talking to me? Go bore your boyfriend. I feel bad for him. He’s probably cheating on you as we speak. I’m so out of this chick’s league. I'm out of here...

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Have to get back to work. Was nice meeting you…”

“Mandy.”

Wow, that name is so hot. Shit, I should stay. She’s so damn hot. Ugh, she’s wearing high heels too? Look at her abs. I didn’t even see that…

The Cheesy Beggar

One thing I must say is the common beggar has improved in terms of storytelling, wit, and well…lying. There is undoubtedly one goal – to receive as much change as possible. But, how much can they ask for? If they shoot too high, they’ll come off greedy and unappreciative. If they ask for something too little, like a nickel, they’ll wonder whether or not they could’ve gotten more out of their sucker. It’s homeless economics 101. In fact, they should probably teach this at universities. Did you know the average homeless person makes over $30K a year? That’s more than the average non-homeless person. Something to think about.

There are many tales, schemes, and clichés that they’ll try. True story – This smelly homeless guy came up to me last night. I preemptively told him I don’t have any change. He was rather insulted by the insinuation and quickly let me know that he was not looking for money. Naturally, I felt kind of bad for the bum and allowed him to speak once more. He only wanted a cigarette. My mistake. I don’t have a cigarette either. Sorry buddy. I suppose I’m completely useless to the homeless society. I sent him on his way, wishing him the best of luck.

As I walked on, thinking about my own poverty, the man reappeared. We made eye contact, and I was certain that he remembered me from five minutes ago. He’s not going to ask me for another cig’ is he? No, he was on to another topic in his Rolodex.

“You know fish, right?”

“I don’t have any cigarettes man.”

“I don’t want a cigarette,” the man said, insulted once more.

Now I’m really confused. I don’t have any change for him. I don’t have a cigarette for him. Does he think I have a spare fish in my back pocket or something? Occasionally I’ll carry a salmon, but you happened to catch me on an off day. Better luck next time.

But, this relentless man was not talking about fish at all. He was talking about Phish – the band. This makes sense. He looks like a Phish fan and he smells like a dead fish. Now I know about Phish, but I’m not that guy who goes to their concert, trips on acid, and calls himself a hippy. To tell you the truth, I probably couldn’t name one Phish song. I’m more of a Led Zeppelin, Rolling Stones guy. Nevertheless, I am not like the new generation where I’ve never even heard of Phish and am more interested in Flo-Rida’s newest ring tone. What kind of name is that? Flo-Rida. Not Florida, the state. Flow Rider…the rapper who flows and rides? In his defense, I bet he’s from Florida. I guess that’s creative in his mind.

Back to Johnny Bum. That’s what I’ll call him for now. He did want money after all. I knew it! He actually had a decent stack of cash in his hand to show me. He had more than I. If anything I should’ve been asking him for money. I was really in the mood for a falafel. I was right on McDougal, and I didn’t even have a dollar on me.

This guy wanted people to fund his trip to upstate New York, and his ticket to Phish’s upcoming concert. That’s pretty ballsy if you ask me. I didn’t believe him though. He was tripping on acid as we spoke. I knew this because he happened to mention, “I’m tripping on acid as we speak.” Gee, do you think he could’ve been lying about the all important Phish concert? There is no way he wanted money to pay for his next fix. This guy? On drugs? No way. Sorry buddy, maybe you’ll convince me the third time I run into you. By the way, can I borrow a few dollars for a falafel?

I’ll never forget this lady who approached me in a deli. She was about to purchase some alcoholic energy drink. You know, something that she desperately would need. Something very vital to her well-being. She wanted to “borrow” fifty cents from me. I love how they want to borrow money. As if I’ll see her in a few days and she’ll cough up the fifty cents I lent her. At least be honest with me, and yourself. You want to take my money from me, with no intention of paying me back.

I told her I did not have any change on me. Notice how generous I am at this point. So she told me that it wasn’t a problem. Her next move was to have me pay the difference.

“No problem sweetie. Here, take my fifty cents, and you can just pay the rest,” the genius said.

Is she serious? I just told her I don’t have change for her. So, she thinks I’m still interested in “lending” her money. The audacity of this woman. She handed me her change and drink and actually coerced me to the counter to pay the difference. Here I go. This makes sense, right? Wait a second! No way! I’m not paying for your drink. She looked at me as if I had just turned down the body of Christ.
What don’t you understand? You’re just going to pay for the rest of my drink. Understand? I may be naive at times, but come on. This trick isn’t going to work. I guess you’ll have to go a Tuesday without your energy beer.

Do you want to know what she did next? She approached my friend who had not overheard our conversation. She told him that I was a little slow, and didn’t understand her request. My friend said to himself, “I’m not slow. I understand what you want.” Sure enough, my friend went ahead and paid the difference for her drink. He came to me, confused. What didn’t you get? All I could do was shake my head in dismay. What are people thinking?

Something that I can understand, sort of, is if someone needs change for a
dollar. Watch out for the tricky bum in Penn Station. He wanted change for a dollar. Alright, that’s not too bad I thought. Let me see if I have four quarters in my pocket. You’re in luck buddy. Dollar please. I held out my change. So did he. What’s wrong with this picture? Who is giving who change here? I thought he needed change for a pay phone? Where’s your dollar bill?

Wait a second. You want to give me your change for a crisp dollar bill? What good is that for me? I have four quarters already. Do you think I’m eager to carry around eight quarters? I hadn’t planned on hitting up a Laundromat or arcade anytime in the near future. Wait another second; you only have about fifty cents in your hand. I can’t take this anymore. Just take my change. Here is a dollar. Go get a beer or crack, or whatever it is you waste your money on. Do I need a class to be homeless, or can I jump right into it? Do you mind if I shadow you for the rest of the day? I’ll be your apprentice or whatever. You’ve got to be making more money than I am. Wait, where are you going?!

Shit, I have no money for the subway. Anybody have change for the subway?

The Friendly Drunk Guy

It’s midnight, give or take an hour. He’s on his tenth drink, give or take five. He is the life of the party, and yet he is barely coherent. His face is painted red from his own internal boiling blood. His eyes are blood shot, but the grin tells me he can care less. The reason he is the life of the party? He is buying everybody shots. Not to mention he is so damn friendly. It’s as if he’s known me for twenty years and while I’ve only know him for ten minutes, it feels more like five hours. “Another shot of Jack Daniels you say? Well, I don’t know. I do have to be up by noon tomorrow. Oh what the hell, make it a double.”

He’s either from England or Australia, but I can’t remember which. From the stench of his shirt I would say…well I still couldn’t say which. Nevertheless, he’s here on business and his business is supposedly something in finance, but it seems more like drinking to me. I sure hope his place of work is paying for this excessive tab. Come to think of it, I’m actually getting a little hungry looking at those sliders.

“Hey, Ted (that’s his name) what’s your last name again?

“McGinley”

Get out of here. Here I thought all McGinleys were Type A personalities. Well, pardon me once more. This is no type A. Maybe AA. Or maybe he needs to visit AA, but that’s another story.

“An order of sliders please! Put it on the McGinley tab. Thanks Ted.”

“You got it. For what, though?”

“Oh, nothing. How about another beer?”

“I love this guy!”

The night would continue in this manner and the moochers were lining up outside the door to meet Ted. Somebody must have been texting their friends about the free food and drinks, compliments of Mr. McGinley.

Ted wants to know if I’m interested in soccer. I’m going to need some help on the subject, asap! Well, I followed Team Italia during their World Cup run. Actually that’s another story. SOHO was off the hook that day. I suppose I could discuss their win over France, and how Zidane was a big d-bag who cost the French the Cup. Plus, with this accent, Ted probably doesn’t care for the French.

Indeed I was right. But, Ted has already moved onto the next topic. I don’t know why I bothered to come up with a soccer anecdote in the first place. I should have known he wasn’t going to pay actual attention for more than ten seconds. He’s starting to slur a lot now and he’s spraying onto my face. Are those sliders almost done? By the way, how old is this guy?

For starters he’s definitely not married. Sure I could simply look at the ring finger and see nothing but knuckle hair and a scab. Maybe he’s divorced. I would say he fits the profile. He hasn’t really hit on any girls yet. He’s not gay is he? No way. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Maybe I should hook him up with one of the ladies around here. They’re not exactly the cream of the crop. I imagine it wouldn’t be too difficult. Ugh, I just got spit in my eye again. On second thought, it may be difficult. Are those my sliders? You’re the man, Ted.

Nothing like three miniature burgers after a few beers and a double shot of Jack Daniels. If I didn’t fill my stomach soon, I may have turned into Ted. Nobody wants that. Although he is so damn friendly. No matter how annoying he is about to become, I can’t imagine anyone wanting him to leave. Ouch! Ted, watch it. You just stepped on my foot and spilled half a beer on my jeans. No worries. Just be careful next time.

“What was I drinking? Oh, just a Peroni. No, you don’t have to buy me a drink over this.”

Thank you. I’m convinced my wallet will not see the light of day for the rest of the night. These are the best nights, financially at least. Where are my other friends that I came with? How are they not taking full advantage of this? I should text them, but I don’t want to take full advantage of Ted. Those chicken fingers look good. I could dip a few of those in Ranch dressing.

“McGinley. Yes, with Ranch dressing.”

I was still hungry – alcohol will do that to you. What’s one more order of appetizers? Ted would have wanted it. Is he talking about religion? Oh no, he’s entered the downfall of the drunkenness. Drunkenness is like the stock market, it reaches its peak and takes a turn for the worst. This could turn ugly real quick. I’m assuming he’s Catholic. The gold cross dangling from his neck gave me a slight inkling. Let me try and lighten the mood with a quick joke.

OK, that didn’t work. Ted, I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m actually Catholic myself, not by choice but by birth. Church? I love going to mass. Sarcasm? Since when did you think I was being sarcastic with you? Ted your face is getting really close to mine. You have officially crossed the boundary of my comfort zone. How about a piece of gum? You were supposed to chew that not throw it behind the bar. No, those aren’t my chicken fingers. McGinley? Oh, Ted did you order those?
Do you honestly want to fight me over a religious wise crack? I love Jesus! I’m not being sarcastic, that’s just my normal tone. Actually, I think I should check up on my buddies. They should be around here somewhere. Well, it was great meeting you Ted. I’m not a big hugger. Again, I’m not going to fight you over this either. I know, I know, you’ve had a few drinks. It’s OK you don’t need to apologize. We’ve all been there. What these chicken fingers? You want me to have these chicken fingers? I can’t take these. I don’t even know whose they are. They do look really good though. No, I shouldn’t.

These chicken fingers are really good. Where were you guys? I was by the bar the whole time talking to that drunk dude. That guy over there. Is he being carried out? Yea, well you should’ve seen him five shots ago. What a really friendly guy. Oh, he was from New Zealand. That’s right. I knew it was one of those countries. It’s a shame he had to go out that way – usually they toss them feet first. Get your own chicken fingers. I paid for these.

Regular Guy Tries For Girl Out of League

NEW YORK – During the wee hours of the night this past Saturday, Lower East Side bar hopper, Thomas Finkle (25) ended up getting a sympathy number from a very attractive girl – whom we only know as Kim (23.) When reached for comment, Finkle said, “I just got a vibe she was digging me, and asked for the number.” Kim gave him a 201 area code, which verified her North Jersey background after a simple Google search. However, it should be noted that Finkle was seen talking to Kim for a mere nine minutes, in what was described as, “typical banter.”

“No way man. It was at least a half hour,” responded Finkle after stumbling out of the LES bar with a grin from ear to ear. Finkle’s state of obvious inebriation was the result of numerous unknown dark ales, as well as a Jolly Rancher shot – which was purchased during the nine-minute interaction with Kim.

It was around 2:46 AM that Finkle was able to establish contact with Kim. “I broke the ice by asking, whatever happened to DMX?” In Finkle’s defense, the outdated DMX song, “What’s My Name,” was playing on the computerized jukebox. Kim was seen giggling from the somewhat comical observation. She gave the average looking Finkle a shot to move in on her clique of friends – which consisted of two less attractive women.

“To be honest, I don’t remember exactly what we talked about. I was a little wasted.” Also, Finkle’s friends had left the bar to check out a near by diner on 2nd Ave. “I just wanted to make sure I locked up the number, and my friends couldn’t wait. They’re such d-bags.”

Finkle woke up Sunday at around 4:11PM, and decided to devote most of the day to recovery and Food Network programming. “I was really looking forward to the Iron Chef that night.” That night’s Iron Chef involved Finkle’s favorite chef, Bobby Flay. The secret ingredient was melons. His champ Flay ended up losing.

Finkle did spend his entire Monday crafting the perfect text, in order to yield a positive response from Kim. “I didn’t want to go too aggressive, but I wanted to try and set something up for the week.” Finkle spent hours trying to figure out the perfect text. He made sure to abbreviate each of his words, and use “…” when necessary. “I wanted to tie in the DMX reference with a possible second meeting.” After countless hours of debating, and advice from friends, Finkle crafted what he considers the perfect text. “Hey we shld get 2gether this week…I know a good drinks spot – altho might not play DMX…”

As of today, Finkle has not received a response.

Overprotective Mom Goes Public

NEW YORK – FRIDAY - An Overly protective mom brought her abhorrent antics to an Upper East Side Starbucks coffee shop earlier this afternoon. She was first noticed after enthusiastically asking her toddler if he would like to wash his hands. The toddler was reluctant to wash his hands. As a result, the mother needed to approach the subject in an alternate manner. “Want to wash your hands in the bubbles? Mommy brought your bubbles with her.” This was enough to put her child over the edge, and the hand washing began.

Upon her return, the mother pulled neatly cut up pieces of what appeared to be Rotisserie chicken out of a Tupperware container. The toddler started grabbing pieces of the chicken, and helping himself to a nutritious meal. “You can’t eat the chicken. It’s too big!” said the mother. Unsure of what to do (and on the verge of panic) the over protective mother snapped into action, and pulled pieces of chicken out of the toddler’s mouth. But, the biggest food threat had yet to come.

The young boy reached into a tidy Ziploc bag, and pulled out a grape to munch on. “Don’t eat grapes!” cried the mother. Considering two healthy items were pulled away from the child, it is inconclusive as to what exactly his diet is. Perhaps he is allergic to food. Nevertheless, the second snack rejection sent the boy into a tizzy. There was only one way out of this debacle.

It was around 4:32P.M. when the mother started singing that familiar tune that makes those of us without children cringe. “Heads, shoulders, knees, and toes, knees and toes, knees and toes…” sang the mother. It should be noted that her rendition of the excruciating song was out of tone, and her pitch was way off. However, she did synchronize the words of the songs with the pointing of the appropriate body parts. This sent the child into an immediate trance, which can only be described as peculiar and disturbing. The song proceeded to last for an excessive six and a half minutes.

It should also be noted, that around this time other former overprotective mothers, whose children have left them for better lives, were seen reminiscing about their past occupations of stifling their children in humiliating and mentally unhealthy ways.