Who’s got a sturdy noose handy so I can hang myself and end the misery?

As if the steady banging of neon flashing little boy shoes with the tiny roller wheels into the back of my seat isn’t enough, there’s the incessant whining that is unsuccessfully quelled with parental coddling that makes me want to set the whole fucking airplane on fire. Rather than a good old scolding, the mother reasons, guilting the child for being irrational, to which the spoiled brat responds with a piercing squeal? “Why do you do this to me? It’s not fair,” she concedes while everyone around her pretends to be deaf.

Or when you’re out having dinner and the tinny pitch of miniature voices tinkles out of the IPad like an annoying, buzzing fly where Dora the Explorer is solving a riddle. The child chimes along with the parents entirely tuned out, entranced by the repetitive motion of their fork to mouth while the ambience of the room is completely foiled, effectively turning the restaurant into a daycare center.

I know what you’re thinking, “You were a child once”. And, indeed, I was. And I’m sure there were times I was difficult. But I remember being taught to maintain a degree of respect in public places. And I understand parent’s weakness because kids are little and cute, but this is their responsibility, not everyone else’s. One day this little monster is going to turn into an adolescent, zit faced, pizza eating, video game playing, apathetic, masturbating machine who refuses to leave home and get a job. So please have a pinch of empathy and get on birth control.

I guess I’m the asshole here. So be it.

And by the way, when is Nabisco going to start infusing Fruity Pebbles with CBN instead of 28 grams of sugar? It couldn’t happen soon enough, in my humble opinion.