Soinkus
Sep 14, 2006, 02:42 AM
An open letter to the parents from yesterday's party:
Hi. You probably don't remember me personally, although I was the most popular figure at yesterday's event. I was the costumed character sweating bullets to make your children smile. It's really quite okay, to be honest. It pays rather well and by rather I mean extremely. However, there are a few issues that we need to discuss, to sort of clear the air.
There's something wrong with the way you're raising your kids. Maybe it's the way that one child threatened to "snuff" me after I accidentally stepped on his foot. Maybe it's the way you bring a still camera to the event and don't know how to use it so you keep me posing with your child for ten minutes until you've figured it out. Maybe it's the way you shove your child in my face even though she's screaming in terror. Maybe it's the "Sexy Thang" t-shirt in which you've clad your 1-year-old. As if I need any help deciding which 1-year-olds are sexy.
When it's a hot spring day and you shout phrases at me such as, "You must be burning in there!" "You must be sweating like crazy!" "You must be so hot inside that costume!" "Hot enough for you?" "You've gotta be on fire!" and, "You must be smellier than that 3-year-old smegma caked on my testicles that my wife's never licked off since she swore celibacy after pumping out my kids," it surprisingly doesn't make my job any easier, especially when you punctuate those sentences with laughter. It doesn't make me want to joke around with you, it doesn't make me smile, and it doesn't make me want to buy you a beer. If anything, it makes me want to grab your wife by the thighs, split her in half, scoop out her organs, carve her into slices, and wear her flapping, cellulite-ridden skin around my waist like it's crazy skin-wearing day.
Another thing. If your child kicks me and you laugh about it, I'm going to kick them back. A 25-year-old can kick harder than a 7-year-old and I can always blame it on not being able to see, the heat, or what have you. Your child only has your piss-poor parenting to blame for the concussion I will be sure to give them.
Nothing you do will ever change the fact that I'm being paid good money to stand there while your waist-high child shoves his or her face in my crotch for a hug. Just think that in as little as six years from now, he or she will likely be doing that to someone who isn't wearing a costume, and not for a hug.
Love always,
JMG
Hi. You probably don't remember me personally, although I was the most popular figure at yesterday's event. I was the costumed character sweating bullets to make your children smile. It's really quite okay, to be honest. It pays rather well and by rather I mean extremely. However, there are a few issues that we need to discuss, to sort of clear the air.
There's something wrong with the way you're raising your kids. Maybe it's the way that one child threatened to "snuff" me after I accidentally stepped on his foot. Maybe it's the way you bring a still camera to the event and don't know how to use it so you keep me posing with your child for ten minutes until you've figured it out. Maybe it's the way you shove your child in my face even though she's screaming in terror. Maybe it's the "Sexy Thang" t-shirt in which you've clad your 1-year-old. As if I need any help deciding which 1-year-olds are sexy.
When it's a hot spring day and you shout phrases at me such as, "You must be burning in there!" "You must be sweating like crazy!" "You must be so hot inside that costume!" "Hot enough for you?" "You've gotta be on fire!" and, "You must be smellier than that 3-year-old smegma caked on my testicles that my wife's never licked off since she swore celibacy after pumping out my kids," it surprisingly doesn't make my job any easier, especially when you punctuate those sentences with laughter. It doesn't make me want to joke around with you, it doesn't make me smile, and it doesn't make me want to buy you a beer. If anything, it makes me want to grab your wife by the thighs, split her in half, scoop out her organs, carve her into slices, and wear her flapping, cellulite-ridden skin around my waist like it's crazy skin-wearing day.
Another thing. If your child kicks me and you laugh about it, I'm going to kick them back. A 25-year-old can kick harder than a 7-year-old and I can always blame it on not being able to see, the heat, or what have you. Your child only has your piss-poor parenting to blame for the concussion I will be sure to give them.
Nothing you do will ever change the fact that I'm being paid good money to stand there while your waist-high child shoves his or her face in my crotch for a hug. Just think that in as little as six years from now, he or she will likely be doing that to someone who isn't wearing a costume, and not for a hug.
Love always,
JMG