When a walking bottle of Penfolds Grange breeds with a former third runner up in a Miss Universe Australia contest the result is meant to be genetic perfection. Sadly, in the cruel game of genetic pass the parcel, their child was left empty-handed when the music of talent stopped.
A happy, beautiful child soon became an emotional Quasimodo as he was forced to live in the shadows of his mother’s overbearing interference. Her parenting style was simple – mummy knew best and she would hover over her child’s life like a pervert’s drone at Swanbourne beach. She also breastfed him until he was 9.
Naturally, her thundercuntery really hit its strides when her kid was in junior school. She sent him in with a mobile phone that was only able to send messages to her and demanded a blow by blow account of how each class went. Each day, her son sent more messages than a horny Shane Warne; he may have turned off the mummy milk tap but he was still attached to her technological teat.
It was her way or the Huawei as she used intel gathered from her son’s texts to write lengthy emails each night about teachers she felt had treated her son unfairly. Ironically, most emails were complaints about teachers telling her son to stop texting in class. SHE HAS A RIGHT TO KNOW.
It didn’t take long before the principal was sick of her shit. She had sent an incredible 500 emails this year alone. He calmly suggested she compile her complaints and send a weekly email instead. Oh shit. Did this piece of tertiary garbage just give her an order? Did he forget that the entire point of his Toyota Camry existence was to serve her and her precious child?
Oh boy. Black Hawk was coming down and she had every warhead in her arsenal aimed at this educator. “I request a formal meeting! I will NOT be spoken to that way!” He doesn’t get paid enough for this shit. No one gets paid enough for this shit.
At the meeting, she presents a detailed dossier on every teaching decision she felt was unfair. Her kid couldn’t be failing maths because he’s dumb as dog shit, oh no, it was prejudice. Her kid couldn’t have been overlooked for sports captain because he’s as coordinated as Australia’s NBN rollout, oh no, it was prejudice.
After 45minutes of eating shit, the principal finally drops a Fisherman’s Friend of courage and clears the air, “look, if you don’t like how we assess students then you are free to take your child to another school”. To say this inflamed the situation would be an understatement. “You will be hearing from my lawyer AND I have friends in the media, you’ve made a big mistake!”
She grabs Quasimodo and concludes the meeting. On their way out of the school, they see some children building a sand castle. She stares angrily at the structure and then glances at her child’s shoes. No. Not today.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?