isn't really the proper word; more like mediating.
We're at an indoor golf place in the mall that's lit up with black
lights. It would be a great place to hang out as a teenager and deep-
dick your teenage girlfriend in the corner. Instead, I'm surrounded by
a dozen six-year-olds with clubs that they swing at crotch level.
The little shits hit the ball with the same force as I would use if I
were beating my worst enemy to death in a blind rage. There are little
glow-in-the-dark golf balls flying like missiles.
And why are kids such fucking little ingrates? They open presents and
have a look on their face like, "Oh, is this the best you can do?" So
you have to coax them into not blurting out some asshole comment and
hoping like all-mighty fuck that they've developed enough tact not to
shit all over their little friends' feelings. This shouldn't be so
goddamned stressful.
Anyway, it's better than having it at the house. Fuck that.
10/11/2008 The Fucking Mall
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