There’s a Boston Pizza commercial on right now that pisses me right off - we start off with the husband and wife acting like they’re cops dealing with a recalcitrant prisoner. We see that the recalcitrant prisoner is their son who won’t eat the dinner made for him. The solution to your children refusing to eat their dinner? Take them out to a restaurant! I thought I was misunderstanding the commercial at first, because the idea of rewarding a child for being a pain in the ass is a little foreign to me. Maybe there will be a whole series of commercials - when your kid beats up his sister, you can buy him a bike. When he flunks out of grade five, you can buy him a pony. When he knocks up his girlfriend in grade 9, you can buy him a house. When he flunks out of college, I don’t know what else you can give him that he won’t already have - I suppose he’ll let you know with what he expects you to reward his latest bad behaviour. Bah.
I used to get the “EAT YOUR FOOD! PEOPLE ARE STARVING!” routine. So, I’d sit there until I ate it all. People are still starving. Go figure. :rolleyes:
Well, obviously you left some over (or surreptitiously shoveled it to the dog - like I used to).
I detect disproportionate outrage.
I think your outrage meter may be malfunctioning, because I detected zero outrage. The max reading that I detected was “pissed off” and “Bah.”
IOW: one of those lighter, milder Pittings, for a refreshing change of pace. By the way, OP, I agree that the parents described are acting like stupetards, but I’m sure that having people tut-tut about the ad and thus generate buzz about Boston Pizza is exactly what Boston Pizza had in mind when they made an ad with stupetard characters.
You’ll never prove it, copper 
That never worked on me. I offered to send my meal to them. (Thanks Dirty Dancing writers!)
I think it’s a children’s Motrin commercial where instead of acting sick, the kids are acting like little assholes. (Pouting, throwing toys at the camera, etc.) It seems to imply that the cure for brattiness is drugs.
On the older end of the scale, there was the ad for the home “communication system” which was a touch screen that had Internet and phone services. A woman looks up a paella recipe on it, then texts the whole family at once that tonight is paella night. Her teenage son sends back a video message, saying, “I don’t know what pie-ella is, but I’m not eating it, ever.” Mom pouts a little, then uses the screen to place an order for pizza.
Screw that. I’d feed the brat his phone first.
I recall a radio commercial for those in-car DVD players. See, BEFORE Mom got one, the little brats were always talking to her and asking questions! About everything! But now they’re perfectly silent on any drive, no matter how long.
That’s right. Don’t interact with your kids, for goodness sake. Stun them into silence with Finding Nemo.
“Boston Pizza: the restaurant full of bratty, shrieking kids and terrible parents.” Yeah, that’s exactly the atmosphere I like when I go out for dinner.
If they ever start opening for breakfast I bet they serve Life cereal. 
Oh boy! I just found my new favorite word.
We used to offer to send it to them long before anybody put “Baby in a corner”. It wasn’t an original sass in the 60s, although every kid who thought it up knew they were a genius.
I offered to do this too, years before Dirty Dancing came out.
ETA: Now I’m overweight and trying to train myself to not keep eating if I’m not hungry, even if there’s food left on my plate.
Slight hijack:
Boston Pizza? Where’s that?
(A quick gander at their website makes me believe that their pizza is even worse than Pizzaria Regina, but that’s simply not possible.)
I was all excited that this thread was going to be another bitch session about parents and screaming kids in restaurants. That one was fun! I was a bit disappointed that this was just a commercial. Come on Cat Whisperer could you not have made up a good “screaming kid in restaurant” story just to amuse us?!
That’s just wrong. The cure for brattiness is Benadryl, not Motrin.
Seriously. My mother always told me to eat everything on my plate, and now that I’m 27 and my metabolism has gone from a raging wildfire to a smoldering ember, this is no longer a practical method for determining how much to eat.
My version of it was basically “Let them come over here and eat it, then”.