Culture

People who should be killed, Part XVII

That’s right, we’re back, and raring to kill. For all the fans of PWSBK, my deepest apologies for not writing with more frequent installments. I’d like to list the lame-o excuses every negligent blogger comes up with after time away from the computer, but I have none other than that I’ve had better things to do with my time.

The 17th installment of PWSBK covers a large and controversial group: parents. No, not your parents or my parents, or Donna Reed, the Cleavers, the Seavers, not even Redd Fox’s Sanford. I refer to the new breed of parents, whom I will call P.A.R.E.N.T.S.™.

You see a lot of P.A.R.E.N.T.S.™ clogging the aisles of grocery stores, dominating sidewalks with obnoxious baby strollers, holding the little ones in papooses that double as a yoga-mat carrier and dog-treat dispenser. You know who I’m talking about. I’m talking about P.A.R.E.N.T.S.™. They cluster in afternoon Traipse Groups, nattering away about their comfortable lives and the problems they, by virtue of power jobs and ‘enlightened’ salaries, just don’t have.

P.A.R.E.N.T.S.™. They are arrogant and entitled, often staring you down when you walk toward them with your dog, as if to say, “Because my child is a human being and therefore several genetic orders superior to a canine, you will step aside before I will.” Never works with me, don’t you know. I love walking into a baby stroller. What’s even more powerful is just pretending I’m going to walk into a baby stroller. Now, that gets a guardian’s blood flowing. Have a nice day.

In this week’s San Francisco Bay Guardian, Amanda Nowinski raises that most vile of liberal rags out of the gutter with her gorgeously written indictment of P.A.R.E.N.T.S.™. Reading the article, I laughed 5 or 6 times, which is 5 or 6 times more than the Guardian has ever made me laugh. But that’s a separate post. Now, I leave you with Nowinski’s hilarious opening paragraph.

“If you live in San Francisco and are in possession of a conventional vagina, you are most likely pregnant. And if you’re not pregnant, you’re either anxious to become so or have just pinched out a baby and are looking to closing the deal on numbers two and three before you hit 40. If none of the above applies, I, a new mother myself, give you permission to ignore that self-righteous pregnant bitch eyeing your MUNI seat and openly admit the following: SF was edgier when it was just a bunch of wayward freaks in crotchless ass pants.”


(I’d provide a link to SFBG.com’s online version of the article, but their fucked up web site doesn’t seem to feature it. Assholes.)

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