Husband: “I didn’t know we needed a license to have children!”
Dogbert: “It used to be that all you needed was a couple of working body parts, but that wasn’t working out so well.”
(Short basic child-rearing and common sense test.)
Wife: “So, can we have children?”
Dogbert: “No. And you’ll need to have some body parts removed before you leave.”
Last summer my neighbor let me know that a bunch of kids went into my driveway, attached the hose, and proceeded to play underneath the water for quite a while. She noticed them and said, “Uh, you really can’t just come into people’s yards and help yourself to her things, plus, this lady has to pay for the water, you know, and if you got hurt on her property, well it would be really bad,” and they were like, “Yeah, so what?” She had to tell them to leave NOW. What the hell are some parents doing when they are supposed to be watching their children?
If the mother of my brother’s first child (conceived in deceit, born out of wedlock, and thankfully my brother did not marry her) is any guide, watching TV and chatting online.
JOhn.
Who wants to bet that the plumber’s got a lawsuit coming his way for “emotional trauma”?
Having the same problem with the pint-sized pecker heads in my neighborhood, I’ve taken to climbing atop my abode, and darting the miniature malcontents with animal tranquilizer.
The first time one of them who hasn’t yet been released from it’s pen (home) rides by my yard and sees the bodies of his slumbering sidekicks stacked like cord wood, things will change, my friend, things will change…
Duke…you’ve probably got some other little sumbitches in your hood, find the dirtiest, meanest looking kid, and drop ten on him to stomp a mudhole in the oldest one’s ass. This way, they’ll both be out of service until older one heals…or, you can borrow my dart gun.
—What Would Scooby Doo?