I am a sick fuck. I just saw this tragic story of Christmas child death on the BBC website and after thinking “Fuck that is horrible. Poor them”, I reflected on the following:

  • “At Christmas too.” – As if dropping a TV on your kid at any other time wouldn’t be as bad.
  • “It can’t have been a flatscreen.” – It has to have been one of those old skool bulky muthas that looks like it was manfactured in Poland by the people who eventually came over here to steal our jobs. Dad is also mouthing off about how big things like TVs have got and how small mobiles have got; he would probably see this as evidence of these dangers made manifest and lead some kind of bullshit campaign to return the world to the days when everyone had to squint at tiny screens.
  • “If there is a metaphor for what TV is doing to the nations youth, then this is it.” – This is how out of touch, eighties throwbacks, clueless fucktards my parents are when it comes to parenting; I am grounded at the moment, for reasons I may or may not come to, and what do they do to accentuate my punishment? Well they take the TV and DVD player from my room, but leave me with my PC. Duh! Take away my access to Celebrity Big Brother and Wall E, but leave intact my ability to access the internet and get groomed by Speedophiles or find extreme porn.

My parents use grounding for its symbolic value; they know deep down it is ineffectual as a deterrent of future aberrations. They feel the need to do something, to react, but since I have had Childline on speed dial since I was 12, it is about all they can do. My Dad never has had the heart to properly thrash me and my Mum is just too lazy, so it’s now I get these speeches all the time full of empty rhetoric and hollow threats. “Whilst under our roof, you will follow our rules” Exsqueeze me? Rules? Since when did we have them? Besides they almost certainly conflict with my human rights as documented in Article Bleh of the Declaration of Impotence. “If you don’t like it here, why don’t you move out?” And live where? Maybe I could turn tricks in Dewsbury and get myself a bedsit.

It’s criminal really how easy it is to get your way with parents that pay lip service to parenting. If it were just about me, I would be over the fucking moon, but our kid is only 6; what chance does he stand with the parental equivalents of Paula Radcliffe? My Dad is angry with the world that he thinks stitched him up, which is why he has the ice cube maker going all weekend, and my mother the borderline manic depressive, shifting from one fad to the next and fucking every low life loser that smiles at her on Pub Quiz night.

You might be thinking in such an atmosphere of laissez faire parenting that it would have to be some major fucked up thing that I am grounded for, but they never have caught me in those acts that really push the boundaries of rebellious, teenage delinquency. No, I am grounded for a lesser crime, when realistically, if properly punished for the sins I have commited,  I should be in solitary confinement for six months and certainly not have access to MSN to arrange drops of ‘recreational materials’.

X- Lon -X