As Garfield (the president, not the cat) would say, "I don't DO mornings." Not at all. So, when it looked like this morning was shaping up to be a big bowl of Frosted Bullshit Flakes, I knew there was only one thing that could make it bearable: Dunkin Donuts, where $2 buys me a large caffeinated cup of extra-light, no sugar happiness. (Screw you and your $8 coffee, Starbucks.) However, feeding the monkey on my back made me witness to one of the most vile and subtle forms of child abuse that I have ever had the misfortune of viewing.
Some yuppie, leather handbag of a woman, bought her eight year old son an iced carmel late.
What. The. Fuck?
I know that parents hate it when bitter, childless bitches like myself question their parenting skills, but for the sake of all those with even an ounce of common sense, I must ask. Why? Why in the name of all that's holy and good would you voluntarily give your child a beverage loaded down with sugar and caffeine? Why would that even seem like a remotely good idea? God almighty, can you imagine what her precious little Tyler was like later on in the day?
Thankfully, I wasn't there to experience the carnage firsthand, but I've watched enough hours of Animal Planet to know how the afternoon went.
9 AM: Tyler squeals like the Pig Guard in Jedi until his mom buys him an iced caramel latte.
10 AM: Hopped up like a schizophrenic monkey on crack getting signals from the Pentagon, Tyler urinates in his mom's sock drawer.
11 AM: Interpretive dance.
12 PM: Tyler starts to crash from his sugar high. He attempts to keep "the good times rolling" by smearing pictographs on the living room wall with his own fecal mater.
1 PM: The sugar has worn off entirely, but the caffeine still has Tyler buzzing enough to alphabetize his dad's porn collection.
2 PM: As the remainder of the stimulants leach out of his system Tyler starts to go into withdrawal. By 2:30 he has plucked out his eyebrows and accused the nanny of being a Nazi spy. Twice.
3 PM: Tyler's parents disown him.