It's Like Kindergarden Cop But The Kids Have The Guns

The thing about being a parent, or even a step-parent, or even anyone who has anything to do with kids is that you've got to set an example that they can live by. Like, always say "please"and "thank-you", or wash behind your ears when you have a bath. Or possibly even be kind and loving to anyone and everyone because you never know who will show up back in your life and save you from getting eaten by a half-dinosaur/ half bear monster that wants to eat your face.

Or, if you are my Womb Mate, you will teach your step-sons that when playing "Cops and Robbers" it's not fun playing Good Cop/Good Cop, or Good Cop/Bad Cop but you might as well change the title of the game to "The Most Corrupt Precinct In The World Because Ethics Are For Pussies".

From the moment I woke up this morning and barely having enough time to scarf down my breakfast, one of the kids who I will call Corrupt Cop #1, set upon me claiming that I had stolen a shit whack of stuff and it was time that I go to jail. The stuff that I stole? A rock and a twenty dollar bill he shoved into my pocket in broad daylight. My loving Womb Mate, who watched this horrible incrimination happen sat at the table and proclaimed that I stole a whole mansion worth of stuff and told them that my finger prints were everywhere and that I was guilty and needed to go to jail.

My loving mother, who pushed me out of her twatter, sat there and presented false forensic evidence to get me jailed. I was handcuffed and thrown into the prison in the living room and forced to lay down on a scratchy blanket. Womb Mate then decided she was going to be a cop.

With Womb Mate in charge, I found myself being stabbed, and shot, and poked, and bullied, and beat up, and eventually my hands were cut off so I couldn't wipe my butt or steal more fake things and when Womb Mate said "what can we do to keep her from running away?" my legs were promptly cut off by her corrupt lackey who wanted nothing more than to just shoot me in the face and be done with it.

I was given one phone call and I was allowed to call The Pilot as my Lawyer Boyfriend and the twat-dink decided that since he didn't go to Lawyer-Boyfriend school he couldn't help me and if I could put him in my will before I was executed that would be a super awesome thing to do and then he hung up on me.

At the second hour of being beaten in living room prison, the lines between vacation and Gitmo started to blurr and I was confused at why I had even bothered to wake up in the morning.

Who knows, maybe tomorrow I will wake up to being water boarded.