who can’t control and indulge every whim of their idiot children.
For a single bloke with no kids of my own I’ve grown pretty tolerant of children since my twenties, especially after becoming an uncle, but I don’t think my niece would be allowed to ride her bike around a supermarket with her hood up, getting in the way of shoppers carrying boxes of wine and beer.
It doesn’t help when that person is a 19-20-stone builder with a bad back and size 13 boots.
Get out of the fucking way.
Or, as I said at the time as the child vanished from view and collided with my knee, ‘OOOOIIAAAYY!?!’
The mum saw I was fuming and apologised (jokingly) but patted her dear little sprog on its hooded head.
I could definitely feel the steam rising off of my head as i walked across the car park carrying the shopping to my van.
Why do these middle-class tossers have to indulge their brats’ every whim?
Riding bikes around fucking supermarkets when you’re knee high, and wearing your hood up so you can’t see anything or anyone around you?
Is there a man at home? You can bet he’s a wet liberal twat with a man-bun who works from home, or the type who commutes from London and never sees the fuckers, or one of these louche Robert Peston-looking cunts who wear scarfs around their pencil necks until about mid may and red trousers.
Nearly as absent minded as the sister-in-law, the thick twats.
Nominated by Cuntamus Prime.


I
