Bullying. Seriously?

When I was a boy in 2nd or 3rd grade, I came home from school one day and told my Dad that I was being bullied, he took me out back, tied my right hand to my belt loop, and came at me like a rabid honey badger. He didn't beat me up, just roughed me up a bit. He wasn't abusive, the majority of the tussle I had a smile on my face, and I vaguely remember giggling. 

When the du

st settled and my scrapes and bruises stopped throbbing, my Dad came to me and said something to the effect of, "Let the bully try that shit now."

I went to school the next day and gave the bully an Indiana Jones-style haymaker, and I never took shit again. Parents weren't contacting parents, coalitions of worried soccer Moms weren't formed, CNN didn't have a roundtable discussion about the event. Playground justice is all that happened. Period.

If we don't let kids sort these things out on their own, we will soon be a nation of total uselessness. Pampering leads to young adults that aren't ready for the real world...ever. Hence the issues we increasingly face. Toughen your kids up by letting them figure some of it out on their own. - Marcus

Facebook Fuckery: Moral guilt fail edition

Admit it. You stop for a minute when you see these things, taking the moment to assess how much you truly value the most important things in your life. You're presented with a conundrum: do you REALLY love your mom/cat/God/sandwich as much as you SAY you do? Well you have just been given the perfect test. If you "like", you're in the clear and probably won't go to hell, at least not for this particular thing. But if you just keep scrolling...well, you've clearly underestimated your love. You've been lying all this time, not only to yourself, but to your family, your pets, your Lord, and your lunch. You bastard.

I bet you're all kinds of pissed now. "But I love my mom/cat/God/sandwich," you say. "I do I do I dooooo...! This is just some stupid shit on Facebook posted by someone with not enough to do. Fuck this shit." I feel your pain, I do. But I also know you feel a weird little awkward twinge of guilt right now for scrolling, like the bastard you are. It's a sign of the times, and I don't like it any more than you do, I assure you. But the writing's on the wall: when you scroll, you might as well put laxatives in your Mom's tea, punch your cat in the face, piss on a Nativity scene...eh, I suppose you can eat the sandwich. But I should warn you, there's a pubic hair in there somewhere. You bastard.