RULE #33 - Stop at Nothing to Teach Your Kid a Lesson
If your pre-teen daughters are running around in Miley Cyrus shorts (which basically means no pants at all), you won’t get them to stop by grounding them or by trying to explain that underbutt is never OK. The trick is that when you’re trying to teach your kid a lesson, you can’t give a shit about embarrassing them in the process.
This particular dad wore short-shorts worthy of a top spot on People of Walmart, but it was his jacket that brought the whole look together. It read: “Ask my girls if they still think short shorts are ‘soo cute’!!” Hick dad FTW.
We get it, Little Girl. Life’s tough. Parents can suck. But thanks to the merciless humiliation of your father, you might not grow up to be a total slut. You’ll thank him later.
RULE #32 - Let the Children Eat!
Gwyneth Paltrow is the worst. Why, you ask? First of all, she leads everyone to believe that they can replicate her ridiculously lavish lifestyle. FYI - Abiding by her recommended diet would cost a family $300 a day. Plus, she named her kids Apple and Moses (See Rule #19). There’s more. She won’t let her son and daughter — both of whom are under the age of 10 — eat gluten, carbs, or basically anything delicious that gives them energy.
Please note: NEITHER OF HER KIDS HAS A GLUTEN ALLERGY.
These are kids, for GOOP’s sake! Gwyn has even admitted, “Sometimes … we’re left with that specific hunger that comes with avoiding carbs.” What’s the matter, Moses? Your tummy is grumbling? Well, sweetie, in the Bible, Moses ate bread because he was leading the slaves to freedom. Unless you’re performing miracles, you can eat celery. What’d you say, Apple? You want to eat your best friend’s birthday cake? Sucks. Go eat your name.
Don’t get me wrong; I think that if kids had a choice, they would have a diet that resembled Buddy the Elf’s. But come on! Kids can eat healthy without subscribing to some bullshit vegan, vegetarian, or gluten-free diet! I’m a pescatarian, but I made that choice FOR MYSELF when I was old enough. Denying an 8-year-old some cheese pizza when he’s not overweight, generally eats a balanced diet, and doesn’t have a lactose intolerance is just cruel.
If you still think Gwyn’s raising it right, know that she has said this: "I’d rather smoke crack than eat cheese from a tin." Doesn’t get more obnoxious than that.
RULE #30 - Don’t Ban Your Kid’s Music
“So if I capsize on your thighs high tide, B-5 you sunk my battleship / Please turn me on I’m Mister Coffee with an automatic drip.”
Yeah, that’s what I listened to when I was in middle school — The Bloodhound Gang explaining to me and other 12-year-olds about ejaculation.
Nowadays, Kanye and Jay-Z are worried that they ball so hard muhfuckas want to find them and Miley Cyrus is waiting in line for the bathroom so she can snort some coke, but is any of it really that much worse than earlier generations? Isn’t Elvis telling girls to love him tender just a more eloquent version of Justin Bieber saying that he wants to feel some chick’s rocking body? BREAKING NEWS: The parental advisory sticker doesn’t mean the tracks on the album will turn your child into a gun-wielding, heroin-injecting sex machine.
Parents, before you
take away the Walkman shut down the iTunes account, calm your tits and remember that your pre-teen is going through a bunch of angsty crap and they’re convinced that Nicki Minaj and Lil Wayne are the only ones who understand him. (And considering how crazy singers and rappers are, it’s probably true.) Unless you press play and hear Satan telling your kid how much fun murder is, or some rapper glorifying rape, put down the remote, because you don’t really need to buy that Kidz Bop CD. (Especially since, sadly, your child probably doesn’t even know what a CD is.)
That sounds harsh, so let me clarify – you need to kick your adult child out of the house. How do you know if he’s too old to be living rent-free at home? Here are some helpful red flags: he has Propecia in the bathroom, you can’t claim him as a dependent on a tax form (regardless of how much he’s sucking you dry), he’s dating a woman with kids of her own, he gets mail reminding him about his 10-year high school reunion. You get the picture.
Unless your adult child moved in to take care of you or unless they have a physical or mental disability that requires your support, they shouldn’t be living in your house. Once your kid is old enough to legally work and can apply to rent an apartment, there’s no reason why you should be washing their boxer briefs and bringing macaroni and cheese and Coors Light to their bedroom. You may have bought into the excuses that your grown-ass offspring has been feeding you, but it’s time to wake up. That “kid” of yours is just sucking the teat until it’s dry and you, Mom/Dad, are just enabling their pathetic-ness by not kicking them to the curb.
That grownup still sleeping with Spider-Man sheets will never actually grow up while they’re living under your roof and having their meals, laundry, and Sunday comics handed to them. It may hurt to sever the umbilical cord, but you’re gonna have to suck it up. Because no woman wants to date a 35-year-old that lives in his parents’ basement.
Rule #28 - Let the Nice People at the Pool Relax in Peace
I spent last weekend in Palm Springs with three activities planned to insure the maximum amount of relaxation: 1) drink, 2) tan, and 3) have a hot guy named Kevin give me a massage. Unfortunately, the hot guy named Kevin turned out to be an elderly Chinese man who karate-chopped my back into oblivion, but you can’t win ‘em all.
At the gorgeous pool at this spa/hotel, there was a gigantic
Hispanic family whose ethnicity is irrelevant and I won’t point out because I’m better than that. But said family had this little prick of a child who was A) old enough to know better and B) determined to ruin my weekend. He was splashing EVERY SINGLE ONE of his relatives and — considering they took up about half the pool — it was a tidal wave. I almost drowned him with my floating pool bed.
Before you jump to his defense, this kid wasn’t being cute or getting revenge on a bully — he was just trying to be an asshole. My bigger complaint? His parents didn’t say anything! I was very obviously irritated at the chlorine that was now in my hair, eyes, and pina colada, but not one of his family members gave me so much as an apologetic shrug.
So, parents, take heed — if you don’t let me relax during my goddamn spa weekend, I’m going to tell your kid what everyone is thinking: Wearing a T-shirt in the pool doesn’t hide the fact that you’re a chubby little sonuvabitch.