rSlash - 001: r/Entitledparents "GIVE MY BABY YOUR BEER!"

Episode Date: May 16, 2019

This an audio podcast of 2 of my YouTube videos, linked below: r/Entitledparents "GIVE MY BABY YOUR BEER!" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N-amdjjVWGE Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Holt Renfrew is sharing joy for the holidays with gifts for everyone on your list, and maybe even a special treat for yourself, too. Discover the new collection for Burberry by Daniel Lee. Add some ambiance with Louis V. Home. Give Gorpkora try and Solomon Sneakers, and so much more. Whatever presence you pick, we know they're going to love them. Visit a store today or shop at HoltRenfrew.com. Welcome to our Slash Entitled Parents,

where a mother stalks OP like a freaking serial killer. Our first pose is from Acker One. This happened almost 40 years ago. I'm posting it as a thanks for reading the other stories. This one is more funny and entitled rather than infuriating and entitled. My immediate family was, for the most part, perfectly normal and boring. We were not prone to outbursts and tantrums. It was very calm and quiet. Everyone got along and we were pretty happy with our boredom. I tell you that so you can understand that I had absolutely no experience at all with people prone to screaming

pits. You should also know that I suffer from a case of terminal morbid curiosity. I also don't give a flip. Never did. Never saw the fun in it. This happened when we were visiting for a great aunties funeral. I was 12. My crazy aunt insisted that we all go out to dinner at her favorite Italian restaurant. It was just the best. She said so and she was never wrong. The gimmick here was a little flag of Italy was on the table. When you went in more dinner rolls, you raised the flag. This is important. Flag up, you get rolls. Flag down, no rolls. Remember that.

The six of us are seated. They take our drink order and bring the bread basket. The cast has a new member, poor uncle, for my poor, long, suffering uncle, who will one day be made a saint for being married to crazy aunt for over 20 years. Some of you commented in my first post that he was an enabler. He wasn't. He was a victim as well. He couldn't leave her without leaving Emily, who is their daughter.

It started with the drink order. We will have five sweet teas. My dad said, I'll have a coke. My dad said, I'll have a coke. My mom said, I'll have a coke. I say tea no sugar. This is a mortal sin in the south. Don't be silly, you can't have sweet tea without sugar. I don't like sugar.

That's stupid, bring her sweet tea. The waitress winked at me. Yes, ma'am. My poor uncle said, I think I'd like a coke as well. Emily says, I'd like a coke. We drink Pepsi, not coke. We are having sweet tea. The waitress brought us our requested drinks. Crazy Aunt was growing agitated. Crazy Aunt likes to control everything and everyone. So she told us what to order for dinner. I'm not going to get into an ethical debate here, but I refuse to eat veal.

She demanded we all have the veal. I refused. I knew this would set her off, but oh well, I'm not eating veal. My parents, after I had explained to them years earlier why I would not eat veal, refused to eat it as well. Did I mention I get my, I don't give a flip quality for my parents? Well, they didn't give a flip either. They were perfectly capable of ordering whatever the heck they wanted.

So they did. I had lasagna. It was good. My mother's was better. Once we ordered what we wanted, it emboldened poor uncle, and he stepped out of line and ordered something else as well. Crazy Aunt was not having it. You are getting the Ville. No, I feel like not having it. You are getting the veal.

No, I feel like something else tonight. The veal is the best. I still want something else. You won't like it. I'm sure I will. You don't know what you're talking about. I know what I like. Well, you can't have it.

Yes, I can. I like. Well, you can't have it. Yes, I can. I said no. Well, I'm ordering it. You always get the meal. Because it's your favorite and you make me. I don't even like Italian food. Yes, you do. It's your favorite.

I want the lasagna. Dang it, poor uncle. Order what I tell you to order. No, lasagna. Emily says, I'll have the lasagna too. You can't have that. You're allergic. No, I'm not. I'm your mother. I know what you can and can't eat. She says to the waitress, bring her the feel.

The whole time this is going on, I'm looking from one to the other like watching a tennis match. Back and forth with the pitch of her voice getting more and more shrill with each sentence. I was fairly certain that when we left, bats would have been summoned. I'm just watching them and eating a dinner roll. The food arrives and everyone got what they wanted, even Emily, much to the fury of crazy aunt. Then it happens.

Poor Uncle raises the flag. Crazy aunt puts it down. Poor Uncle puts it back up. Crazy Aunt takes it back down. Up and down. Up and down. I see the bread guy hovering at the edge of the table waiting. Flag goes up and he rushes in to drop off the new basket before I can go back down. Crazy Aunt grabs the basket and throws it at the kid that delivered it. To save time and typing, every time Crazy Aunt speaks, the flat goes down. The rest of the time, it goes up. You don't need any more bread, but I want more. I said no. I am an adult.

I can have more bread if I want. No, you can't. Why? Just tell me why I can't have more bread. Because I said so. You aren't listening to me. I'm hungry and I want more bread. You wouldn't be if you would order the feel.

Yes, I would. I always am, but you never let me have more bread. Tonight I get more. I say I want some more bread too. No, you've had enough. No, I really think I want more. Well, you are wrong. You seem upset. That's because you people aren't listening to me. Yes, we are. We just don't care. We want more bread. Dad says to me, while trying not to laugh at how absurd this is, you aren't helping. I think you want more bread too. At this point, the whole dang place is watching our table and the battle over the flag. I'm pretty sure there were people taking bets to see who would win.

In the middle of the confusion, a nice lady sitting at another table nearest Emily tapped her and slipped their fresh bread basket to her. Emily took a roll and slipped it to me. I took one and slipped it to my father, then it went to my mother who, after taking a roll for herself, slipped one onto poor Uncle's plate. Crazy Aunt saw it and grabbed for it. Poor Uncle was faster. He shoved the whole thing into his mouth at once.

It was a big role. The waitress approached the table to check to see if we needed anything. Xanax was unfortunately not on the menu. And Crazy Aunt demanded she bring the check. I want dessert, chocolate cake. Sounds great. I'll have some. Me too. I'll have some apple pie. I'll have the cheesecake. Bring cheesecake for Crazy Aunt. She loves cheesecake. No, we are not having dessert. We are getting the check and leaving now. No, we aren't.

Well, I'm leaving. You can all walk home. I drove. It's our car. I know. Give me the keys. Nope. You have to give me the keys.

I live here. You have to give me the keys. I live here. You are just visiting. Yes, I'm just visiting with my family in our car. It's my state. I don't care. It's my car and you can't have it. You're a terrible driver anyway. No, I'm not.

You drive the wrong way on the freeway. No, I don't. It's the other cars going the wrong way. You get lost in your own neighborhood. Not always. You are not driving my car. Yes, I am. No, you aren't. That, ladies and gentlemen, continued while we ate dessert. Paid the check, my father was buying, as we walked to the car and for the entire trip back to their house. My father drove, we dropped him off and went back to our hotel room. But that says, has your sister always been this crazy? No, it started when she was about three. What happened?

She started speaking in complete sentences. Ah. Listening to OP describe that argument as a tennis match gives me a great idea for a new YouTube channel. Basically you invite two entitled people to a restaurant and tell each of them in secret that the other person offered to pay for the meal. Then, you record the argument, post it online, and blow MrBeast's views out of the water. Our next post is from milkshake pirate. Context, I live in the center of a town that does a yearly half marathon. The marathon route basically

traps me in my building as it goes in the roads around it which I need to cross to reach the rest of town. It's been taking place for years and was here before me so I'm not bothered by it. I just avoid leaving my building until most of the runners have gone. On this day I had an errand to run but was going out in the afternoon so I was forced to push through the crowds and the pavements to then wait and cross through the runners. I managed to get to the shops and do what I needed to do. On my way back, it started hailing a crazy amount, huge stones that made the ground look

like it had been snowed on. Spectators were sheltering underneath shop awnings, including the one above the door of my building, where a mom and her two young children were standing. Excuse me, sorry, I'm so British. Can I just quickly get through? The entitled mother looks absolutely furious. No, find your own spot. We're standing here.

Fair enough, the door isn't too obvious. No, I actually just live in this building, so I just need to get through that door. I don't too obvious. No, I actually just live in this building, so I just need to get through that door. I don't think so. These are offices. I work in them. Don't try and fool me and my girls in the moving for you. They're not offices, so Lord knows why she'd say that. She's still in my way. I really do live here. Look, I have my key and can open this door. No, can you just piss off and go somewhere else? She's being loud, so everyone nearby can hear and is staring. Look, I really do just want to get into my home. Everyone is looking at us now,

so if I'm just trying to get you out of the way, I don't think they'll put up with it, do you? Fine, remember, everyone is looking. She moves, so I put my key in the door, and what surprise it opens. I give Entitled Mom a little wave as I walk through and clock a couple of onlookers stifling some laughter. After all that, entitled Mom immediately walks off with her two daughters into the hael. This entitled Mother Works in Your Home, that's the type of stuff that horror movies is made of. And speaking of horror movies,

our next disturbing post is from Simba Suites. So this happened a couple days ago, and the more I think about it, the more disturbed I get. For some backstory, I'm a huge musical theater nerd, and a few years ago, I got to see Phantom of the Opera in Seattle. And as a souvenir, I bought a tote bag with a play's logo printed all over it that I'm still very fond of. Now the show is playing in a theater in my area, and there's been a lot of local buzz

about it. I went to see it this weekend and decided to carry my Phantom tote for a while since my love of the show has been bolstered and the bag is a great conversation starter for other theater nerds I may meet in public who recognize the show that my bag references. Now let's set the stage. A couple days ago, I went to the grocery store near my apartment to stock up on some pretty standard food stuffs and when I walked in, I saw to the grocery store near my apartment to stock up on some pretty standard food stuffs. And when I walked in, I saw a cashier I'm friendly with working the self-check out

kiosk, so I stopped to talk to him for a few minutes. My bag was hanging over my shoulder, within clear view of the doors. After a couple minutes into my chat, I felt a tap on my shoulder, so I turned around to address whoever was trying to get my attention and found a relatively normal looking woman. Average size, normal clothing, normal hairstyle. Nothing to indicate this woman was a caretip in any way. Is that the fandom of the opera on your bag? Me happy to chat about one of my favorite musicals, yeah, do you like the show?

It's fine, I took my daughter last week and to see it at the local theater. She loved musicals. Me too. I thought it was a really great show. The cast did a really great job and she cuts me off. Did you buy that bag there? I didn't see that bag at any of the booths. Actually, I got this in Seattle when I saw the show a few years ago. Oh, because there really weren't any souvenirs at the show, my daughter liked. She would love that bag. She looks at me expectantly. Um, I realize what she wants.

I'm sorry your daughter didn't find any keepsake she wanted. She was so disappointed she didn't have anything to remember this show by. She would love your bag. Love it! Well, I know I love this bag. I hope the next time your daughter sees a show, she finds a souvenir she likes. I am pretty nervous at this point because I'm very non-confrontational and I've read plenty on the subreddit

to no entitled parents like causing scenes. I gripped my bag very tightly, trying to hold it against my body with my elbow and with both hands tightly on the straps. I've gotta go do my shopping now, excuse me. To my pleasant surprise, she didn't say anything else, so I really thought I'd gotten away without any crazy happening. I grabbed a basket and went to the cereal aisle. As I'm putting Cheerios into my basket, entitled Mom also enters the aisle.

She doesn't have a cart or a basket, and she doesn't try to approach me again. Instead, she just stares at me. I decide to try and ignore her and go about business as usual, grabbing the things on my shopping list. Every aisle I go to, she follows me into. Every single one. Just staring at me. I'm certain she was just waiting for me to let my guard down. I go through self-check out, and she hangs by the discount bread rack nearby, still watching. Knowing she's probably not going to get this up when I leave the store, I flag down my acquaintance working the self-checkout kiosk and tell him I'm pretty sure that

entitled mom is going to follow me to my car. He's wary of her and walks me and my purchases after the parking lot and doesn't leave until my bags are loaded and I'm in my car with my doors locked. I was still keeping an eye on an entitled mom, and sure enough, she left the store when I did, watching me as I got to my car. I saw her getting to her own car, still watching me. My acquaintance who walked me out went back to the store and I was left alone in my vehicle caught in an awkward staring match with entitled mom. Also in her car, she didn't even try to hide the fact that she was watching me.

It dawned on me that entitled mom was likely to follow me home. So instead of taking my usual exit that would take me back to my apartment, I drove over to the exit that turned off onto the more major street. Entitled mom followed me like I expected. I sat there for a couple minutes at least, waiting. See there's an intersection at the corner of the grocery store with really long light times, so cars end up lining up a fair amount. I waited until the last possible second until the light turned green and at least a wave

of cars turning right just before they hit, leaving entitled mom stranded to wait for them to pass if she wanted to follow me. I drove up the street and got into the highway, then took the exit for the next neighborhood over and took the back way to my apartment. My car is pretty noticeable, it's bright orange, and I didn't want to take any chances that an entitled mom may recognize my car by going back the way I came. It seems I successfully ditched her, because no one has come banging on my door, demanding I give them my Phantom Toat. Needless to say, I will be leaving that bag at home from now on.

That's actually kind of horrifying. I guess her plan was she would follow OP home, break into the house, and then if she gets caught, she just says, no, this isn't OP's house, I work here. We'll be back with more Arslash content right after this commercial break. Whole Trenfrew is sharing joy for the holidays with gifts for everyone on your list, and maybe even a special treat for yourself, too. Discover the new collection for Burberry by Daniel Lee. Add some ambiance with Louis V. Home. Give Gorf-Cora try in Solomon's sneakers, and so much more.

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Sarah, the contractor's here with the plans. American Express, don't do business without it. Terms and conditions apply visit mx.ca slash business platinum. Our first pose is from unoriginal use. Now, for a bit of context. Last weekend was Liberation Day in Holland, and many cities were having festivals to celebrate.

Most of these festivals have free entrance, so they tend to crack down on people bringing their own food and drinks to increase profits from beverage sales. A mate of mine lives within the area where the festival is taking place, so usually we drop our booze at his place and retrieve it during the festival. Since it didn't seem like a terrific idea to walk around with a bottle of Jack Daniels, I mixed it into a one-liter Coca-Cola vanilla bottle with just enough coke that it looked like coke and went into the festival grounds. While walking around with the bottle of coke, I feel a tap on my shoulder. Festival etiquette is to move over to the side to let somebody pass, after which I move along.

I suddenly feel a hand grabbing my shoulder and trying to pull me back so I turn around and I'm faced with a typical Karen. Where'd you get that? She points at the bottle. I brought it from home. Can my kid have some? Me not wanting everybody to know I had booze on me said, they sell coke over there, you can buy your kid a fresh cold one. They don't sell vanilla coke there and he doesn't like the regular one. He wants years and she holds at her hand. If he doesn't like the regular one, I'm pretty sure he won't like this any better.

Meanwhile the kid has started squealing about how he's thirsty and once that won. And entitled mom starts giving me a demanding stare. Okay lady, I'm gonna be honest with you. Half of this bottle is whiskey, and I don't think it's a good idea to give the kid whiskey. You're lying! You just made that up so you wouldn't have to share with my baby. Now give it to me. While I kinda shrug and turn away in an attempt to disappear into the crowd, the kid grabs

the bottle with both hands, rinses it from my hand, and makes a run for it, his mom and toe. I follow them, and find them just in time to see the kid take a few massive swix from the bottle, after which he starts violently throwing up almost immediately. Figuring the best move for me would be to not further pursue the now vomit covered bottle of jack and coke, I decide to head over to my mates and mix a new one. In passing, I throw the entitled mom a, told you, and make my way into the crowds. Within seconds, Entitle Mom charges me and starts attempting to take a swing at me. You poisoned my baby, security! We're separated by bystanders and a stallholder gets security, which questions both me and

Entitle Mom. He gave my baby a bottle of poison and told him it was coke. I wanted him arrested. Sir, what's in the bottle? A pre-mixed whiskey and coke, somewhat on the generous side with the whiskey. And why did you give that to a kid? I didn't, sir. I was mostly planning on getting smashed myself to be fair. They thought it was Coke wouldn't believe me when I told them it was booze and snatched the bottle from me. What you're seeing here is just the result of the kid taking a drink before I was able to stop him. At this point, a bystander

chimes in confirming that he saw the kid snatched the bottle from my hand, although he hadn't heard the conversation. Security tells the mom to not pull that stunt again. To take her still crying kids to the first aid post and instructs me to be more careful with the next batch I'm inevitably about to make. You know putting aside the booze stuff what I can't understand is why these mothers want their kids to swap spit with strangers. Can you imagine living the rest of your life with mouth herpes? Because when you were five, your mom gave you a bottle from some random stranger and you drank from it. Our next post is from Top Gorilla 17. Long ago, way back in the before time,

I worked for one of those bulk warehouse club stores. My trade was simple. I was a Wrangler of the Silver Buffalo and dutifully retrieved the old ghetto strollers I did. The job in and of itself wasn't the worst I'd ever had. I got plenty of exercise, got to be outside, and generally didn't have to interact with the members, calling them customers was taboo, for the most part. for the most part. The thing about this job is that the company I worked for had a reputation for being cheap. Thusly, more often than not, I was on my own out in the parking lot. Big whoop, you might say. You gathered cards. You should see how hard my job is.

Yeah, well, shut up. This is my story, but much. I digress. The reason that being alone sucked is that this store didn't have just one kind of card. Heck, they didn't even just have two kinds of cards. You had your classic Garden Variety card, the Kitty card with a plastic facade

to make it resemble a car. The electric scooters, which weren't supposed to leave the store, but did so with alarming frequency. And finally, the bulky hard to control flat bids. On top of that, whenever someone needed help loading their haul into their minivans, I was the guy they called. You know, because the greeter's, cashiers, and managers were all busy. As you might expect, one man cannot be in multiple places at once, and as a result, on some of our busier days, it became incredibly difficult to keep enough carts in the vestibule.

Our story begins on one of those days. So there I was, chucking along like a good worker drone, struggling to keep up with the sheer volume of people coming in to buy cheap bulk goods. Sure enough, I get a call on the radio. From my manager, OP, we need you to help some members load their purchases. Uh, I'd love to, but I'm barely able to keep up out here as is. Just do it OP, you can afford to stop gathering cards for 2 minutes. Narrater, he couldn't.

I didn't want to push my luck, so I complied. After spending 20 minutes loading people's purchases because when one person needs it, suddenly they all need it. I came back to find my vestibule a near ghost town, safe for a single line of cards that was half gone, and the Karen. I won't waste time describing this specimen. She was the prototype. You know what she looked like.

There she stood, menacing, tapping her foot with such speed that can make any metal drum or green with envy. You could collect the contempt in her gaze in a jar. Where are the big flat ones? I blinked for a moment. I'm sorry. UGH, Mexicans. For the record, I'm very much white. Where are the flat ones? Oh, you mean the flat bids. I'm sorry. I was just helping some other members load their merchandise and have a head of chance to...

Oh my god, I don't care about your excuses, you have one job and a trained monkey could do it. I just want this lady out of my face so I don't fight it. Sorry ma'am, I'll grab one from the parking lot for you. You'd better! So I go back out to the lot and find a whole line of flatbed sticking out of a crowd blocking several parking spaces. I push them all into the vestibule where she waits, huffing about how I'm wasting her

valuable time. I separate one from the rest and bring it to her. I'm terribly sorry about the wait ma'am. She leers at me with utter malice. I'm unbelievable. And with that, she dismisses herself into the store, where she will be someone else's problem. I shake my head and return to doing what I'm paid to do.

About 15 minutes later, I'm returning a line of cards when I see her pushing her flat bit to her meada and drawing about stupid people, most certainly referring to me on her cell phone. You know what she had bought? What she had insisted on having a flat bit for a cake. This wasn't even like a big cake. It was one of those little circular numbers. Anyways, I witnessed as she continues to yammer on about how I nearly ruined, ruined

I tell you, her precious baby's birthday party, when the most glorious thing happened. Still clutching her phone with those high-life scoop claws of hers, she attempts to pick up the cake with one hand, the plastic topper pops off, and she spills the cake all over her undoubtedly expensive designer outfit. Seething with white hot rage, she locks eyes with me. You get me another cake now! Terribly sorry ma'am, I've got one job and these cards won't gather themselves. I walked away, poo eating grin plastered on my face as her shrieks faded into the

distance behind me. I've had my share of nasty customer interactions before, but this one really took the cake. Our next post is from Gadgetzimui, a pregnant woman tried to take my taxi despite having seen me waiting outside and having heard me make the call. She even said, waiting for a cab to which I replied, yeah, before I got back to my phone games to pass the time. About 10 minutes passed and my taxi arrives and I head over but the woman says, sorry, but this is my taxi arrives and I head over but the woman says, sorry but this is my taxi.

The driver asked for me by name and the woman says, that's me. I'm like, there's no way you have my name and call the same cab company. I call an unpopular taxi company because I'm friends with a few of the drivers and this was one of them. I say, but I called it and she's opening the door already. The driver literally says, hey, so this is her taxi pointing to me. The woman looks upset and says, but I'm pregnant. I really did call this taxi too and Blink really is my name. She's trying to steal my taxi. I don't even know this woman,

and I'm getting really, really upset because I've worked a long day and don't need this. The driver and I exchange frustrated look since he knows me and he knows I called. And then he says, all right, I'll use my phone to see who called the cab. He uses call recognition and dials the number. My phone goes off.

The pregnant woman now tries a new tactic. Racism. All of you pack-ies, he's from East India. Are the same, you'll believe anyone who gives you a dollar. Anyway, I scooted around to the other side to get in behind the driver while he kept all the other doors locked so she couldn't get in. She was furious and yelling the whole time and my driver starts pulling out and says to me, I would have happily taken her to where she wanted to go with you, but at this point

I'm just going to tell everyone to avoid her. He took her picture to warn his fellow drivers about her racism and potentially threatening behavior. Since by the end, she was threatening to break windows and I went to heck home. I don't even understand the reasoning. What kind of person is going to be like, oh well, you called me a racial slur. In that case, let me help you out. Our next post is from the Kiwi247.

When I was 12, my parents moved us to a new place, and our neighbors were unpleasant. There was the entitled mother and the father. I never met him, so I can't call him entitled, with two sons. One was 13, and the other was about 8 or 9. The older brother was a decent guy. We were school bus pals, but the younger one was an issue. But looking back on it, he probably had a social disorder like Asperger's or perhaps ADHD. My mom did NOT like this kid. A few incidents happened before with him, and my mom nicknamed him the Orange Haired Goblin. I'll call him OG. This story is told from my mother's perspective as she dealt with entitled mom. Despite this happening over 10 years ago, I do remember that it happened, but the written dialogue here is pulled from my mother's retelling of the story so there's a tad of

embellishment. This was in the day of dial-up in my country, it was fantastic. My mom and I had a system where I'd quickly load a flash game with the heads up, then disconnect from the internet and plug the phone back in. It was the school holidays so it was just my mom and I at home when dad was at work, so it wasn't otherwise empty house when this happened. My mom said, OP, you're supposed to give a heads up when you're unplugging the phone, I need to make a call.

Me, from the backyard, I'm not on the computer though, I'm outside. Mom pokes her head out the kitchen window, sees me, looks confused, then turns around. She and I have the same idea, so we both head to the room with the computer and find orange-haired goblin. Excuse me, what are you doing? My mom told me I can use your computer.

Why don't you use yours? Despite hating this kid, my mother is not unreasonable. She's not going to get annoyed with an 8-9-year-old. I broke it! Well, I'm sorry, but she can't decide that. You have to ask her permission. Besides, you can't let yourself in our house anyway. You can finish the game, but I need to plug the phone back in so you can't load anything

else. Mom then gives me a look that meant, keep an eye on him. She later told me she didn't want him to break our computer if he indeed broke his own, so she needed me to keep an eye on him. The kid then leaves. Then, 10 minutes later, we hear a knock on our door. I go to answer, but my mom gets there first. My kid told me you won't let him on your computer.

Sorry, who? My son! Oh, right. The kid who let himself in. He told me you told him he could use my computer? Why is that? His was broken and I needed to entertain him. So, that makes it okay? I wouldn't have minded letting him if you would just discuss it with me first.

He's an angel, there's no harm in him using it. Clearly there is if he broke his. At this point, entitled Mother Must have been getting annoyed. I heard this part for myself as she started shouting very loudly. He only broke his keyboard, he spilled his drink on it. It's safe for him to use yours because he learned his lesson. Still doesn't give him or you the right to come and go as you please and use our property without permission. But you said you would have let him so what's the problem? My problem is a strange kid. I barely know, just walked into my house and used my computer because his mother said

he could. If that's how you treat your neighbors, then you or your children aren't welcome here anymore. My mom then slammed the door, and that was the last we heard of in title mom, though she'd stare at us if she saw us leave the house. My mom would make jokes about the kid if she saw him in the street like, oh man it's the orange haired goblin remember to lock the door. When school resumed I was talking to the older brother on the school bus. He told me that his mother asked him to steal our keyboard if he ever comes around again. He understood his mother was a whack of doodle, so we just had a laugh

about it. I think the easiest solution to this problem will be for Opie's mom to say, oh well if it's okay for your son to come over and use our computer, then I'm sure you won't mind sending my son over to your place to feed himself. Sweetie, go ahead and go over to the neighbors, place and make yourself a sandwich, I'm sure they won't mind feeding you. That was our slash entitled parents. And later today, I actually have a phone call with the people at the merch store. So hopefully we can get that set up pretty soon.

I know it's been like a week or two since I put out a call for designs, but I just wanted to let everyone know that I'm still working on it. It's gonna take a little bit of time to get the store set up. But hopefully I can get that out and maybe like a week or two. I don't know. I'm just kind of guessing

because I've never set up, you know, a big merch store like this before, but hopefully we can get some cool Yugo puppy bloopers and funny carrying t-shirts out for you guys pretty soon. So stay tuned.