I’m not watching your kids unless I can swear at them.


Look, I do not advocate cussing a child out. But there comes a time when you must word things a little more strongly in order to strike a bit of fear into their little oppositional minds, and a well placed swear word freaks them the hell out.

Adult: Stop!
Kid: Whatever.

Adult: Knock it the fuck off!
Kid: Holy crapballs. I better stop.

See? It works just like that, every damn time.

And kids love me. They are drawn to me, they follow me, they bug the shit out of me, and they randomly hug me. Unless it’s my kid, because he just runs away from me. But kids I don’t know? They adore me!

Maybe it’s because kids have been my profession for so long, or maybe I have just gotten more cocky and more cranky in my disabled days. Either way, my new rule is that if I can’t cuss at your kid, I’m not watching them. Because a) it’s effective and b) it’s sort of fun and I deserve some fun if I’m going to watch you kids.

I mean, there will be hugs thrown in and stuff. Popsicles. Probably some time in the swimming pool. But I’m going to be saying things like, “Who wants a damn hug?” and “It’s fucking popsicle time!” So if you can’t handle that then your kid probably shouldn’t come over or be left with me at all, ever.

Well, I have to go now. One of the kids is crying louder than all hell.

Fucking bees.



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