why beating your kids works

I was at home watching television, I think the Ellen DeGeneres show and on my second afternoon Mojito before my afternoon nap. It’s not that I’m not looking for a job in this recession; it’s that some weeks I get tired of lying to people how much I want to work again when the government said it might give me another six months of unemployment. Yet, not the best idea to be unemployed for a long time because it’s hard to explain. Well, again I said I was tired of lying.

Ellen and her old white woman dancing were interrupted because of a breaking news story. A boy was trapped in a Jiffy popcorn bag. Well I really didn’t hear the whole story, I just heard breaking news and saw what looked like a jiffy popcorn bag floating in the air and changed the channel. I was afraid Obama was about to give another eloquent speech about bubble gum or something. It’s nothing against Obama since he is the only thing I’ve voted for my entire life if you don’t count American Idol or Dancing with the starts.

When I tried to turn the channel, it was futile. The jiffy pop boy was on all channels. I immediately refilled my Mojito, no reason. I didn’t feel drunk enough for almost three in the afternoon. At first I thought who let their six year old boy make popcorn by himself. And then I thought, damn Costco is selling items larger than usual.

After I turned up the volume, I realized a kid might be trapped in that balloon. I immediately thought bullshit. I know a little thing about blowing up sex dolls and seeing if they will fly. Anyways, I thought a kid would anchor any helium. I mean hot air balloons have to keep pushing air into the balloon or it would collapse. But somehow all the news anchors forgot their basic science classes about gravity.
I, being bored, was still intrigued. I wanted to understand how long it would take them to figure it out. So I called my bookie in LA to bet on how long it would take them to figure out they were fooled. He said eight hours according to the news anchor. I said it would take three hours. We went back and forth if they were going to shoot it for being an UFO.

Anyways, two hours later and no surprise. The boy wasn't in the balloon. At least when that girl fell down the well we heard her crying. That was good television. Grandma never let me play by the wishing well again. She said demons stole child in that wishing well.

I was suddenly reminded of each and every predictable Scooby Doo episode
” And they would’ve gotten away with it if the parents would had learned to beat their kids.”

The kid ratted out the parents. Children can be so innocent without fear. Growing up I knew to never say anything about all the illegal activity going on in my house. I was really afraid. Grandma used to say if the police question you, act like you are retarded. It worked. Until this day, I will never say what I say not even to my therapist.

I admit, at one moment in that bogus story, I thought the kid may have been in that balloon. I felt confident that he would be saved. I also knew he was in for one ass beating when he was found. I remember my cousin getting hit by a car when he was ten years old. My grandmother would visit him every day in the hospital with homemade southern food, but every time she left, she whispered in his ear, “As soon as you get betta, I’m gonna beat that ass.”

I guess that was Tough love. PeeWee never got hit by a car again. I never told that some of my family members were illegal street pharmacists. And most of them got away with it until prison.