Parenting of the Rich and Famous

After my class last night I stopped off at the local watering hole for some dinner, and the World Serious was on. Poppy and Babs were at the game, and of course the Fox cameras kept caressing them lovingly.

They were having a Grand Old Time! They didn't have a care in the world, they were as happy as hogs in slop, and Babs had an extra bucket of potato peels and apple cores. At first I thought, "That's a little odd," then I realized -- they're happy to watch Junior stepping in it.

Babs was thinking, "If I had a pearl necklace for every time we've had to pull that boy's lazy, smug, dumbshit sorry ass out of the deep doo doo . . . It got so tiresome, I was growing pimples on my beautiful mind. Well he's on his own this time, we aren't loaning him five bucks for a shoeshine. We're just drinking martinis for lunch now, sitting on the front porch watching the sailboat races. His uncle Dick can't help him either, he's swimming in the doo doo himself. Which is also just fine by me. I never could stand the way that man talks with his jaw clenched, such a sourpuss.

Anyhow, maybe this will finally ram some sense and some respect through Junior's concrete cranium, but frankly, at this point, I don't give a rat's ass."

At least that's how it appeared to me, but I only saw a bit of video of people I've never met. Maybe Dr. Frist has a better diagnosis.