Faking ill – why studying Drama is a Good Career Choice

Many people believe that in order to “make it” in the corporate rat race you have to possess certain essential skills that without which you cannot hope to survive: skills such as mathematics, computer literacy and good language skills. Other skills get sidelined as unnecessary, superfluous and extraneous (the extra adjectives are redundant I just wanted to show how gooder my language skills is). How often are we told that it is a waste to study subjects like Art or Music at school? How is that going to help us become a corporate banker? Probably the first subject on the chopping block is that of Drama.

However, having never studied Drama, because my school never offered it (and if it had, it was the type of school where studying such a subject would have resulted in getting the living snot kicked out of you) I can tell you that it is a skill I wish I possessed.

For there are times at work when the skills of the dramatically inclined are in great demand, for feigning interest for 8 hours a day, for pretending to find the boss’s jokes funny and not least of all making convincing “phoning in sick” calls.

We all know the feeling when we just need a day off, but don’t have the leave and all it will take to avoid the stress and boredom of another soul destroying day in the office is one simple phone call to the boss to say you’re not well. All of a sudden the skills of the dramatist become far more important than numeracy skills, a Microsoft Excel certification or snappy Powerpoint presentation abilities. This is pure, raw acting for survival.

It requires just the right amount of volume control, making your audience believe that every breath let alone every word is a struggle requiring every ounce of your concentration. The word to cough/splutter ratio is also important. Too few coughs and you don’t sound all that sick, but too many and you sound as if you’re faking it – this is acting on a knife’s edge.

There are a few easy ways out that the non actors amongst us have developed to try get around our obvious shortcomings and to avoid too much interrogation by our bosses: conditions such as “gastro”, “food poisoning” or the all too common, yet all medically undocumented, “24 hour flu”.

We feel like these ailments are too personal or disgusting for reproach, like the gender neutral equivalent to the “get out of jail (work) card” of “women’s problems”. A veritable “don’t ask, don’t tell” situation, if ever I’ve seen one. Men have been stuck without a gender specific truancy alibi because unfortunately “Men’s problems” such as “depressed about the soccer result” or “hung over” didn’t appear to be dire enough and so because most men, having been deprived of the opportunity to study drama, have resorted to these easy outs rather than applying themselves to more enterprising ailments.

However the overuse of these alibis has caused them to become synonymous with bunking and the shirking of work rather than the concern for health of one’s fellow employees (which is why we take sick days is it not?)

So I suppose the point is, let you children study drama and maybe attend a few adult classes yourself if you really want to get ahead in life. Failing, which just study really hard and become a doctor so you can write your own doctor’s notes.

Or at the very least become close friends with a doctor who could write you sick notes in times of need or a few undated ones – the blank cheque of time off. Just make sure he’s a medical doctor and not a psychiatrist. There is something a little disconcerting when you boss receives a sick note from your psychiatrist saying “Gareth is unwell and not suitable for work”

I can’t believe I’m friends with you… part 2

After last week’s rant about the aberrant abuse of status updates on facebook I’m back with more and hopefully I can get through this without choking on my own rage.

3) Cheer up Emo kid
These status updates kill me. When someone posts an updates like “what is the point of living?” or something like that, what are you supposed to do? I’m not trying to be insensitive here if this is a call out for help. But what the heck is the point of a statement like that except to attention seeking, which is why immediately after a million women will comment with “cheer up friendly” or “keep smiling, you’re beautiful”.

I have no problem with providing support and friendship to those who are in need, but being manipulated into it by some emo kid who’s “life is over” at 14 because her boyfriend got grounded and will miss their 3 month anniversary of the time they held hands, is a bit much. Also facebook really missed the boat here only providing a “like” button, because there’s something a little insensitive about responding to “I wish I could end it all” with “Gareth likes this”

4) Unoriginal Comic Genius
You know what the most difficult part about being an original comedian? The “original” part. Anyone can tell someone else’s jokes (and ruin it just as easily), but it takes a lot of hard work and real comedic talent to come up with a truly funny and original one liner. Unfortunately facebook is full of thieves with the mindset of “look how funny I am when I Google one liners”.

They then paste these lines into their status updates without any reference to the originator or even the courtesy of quotation marks or the liability “get out of jail free card” of writing “anon” afterwards. What irks me even more so is after all their friends “like” the comment or respond with “that’s so funny”, “lol” or “you’re really funny please have sex with me”, there is still not even an ounce of guilt in their thieving little minds. Worst of all if you ever confront them about stealing someone else’s material the response is either “I didn’t know” (what you didn’t know you didn’t write it? Like you couldn’t remember if you came up with this line or if you typed “funny one liners” into Google and copy pasted the result?) or “It’s just a joke, get a sense of humour”.

“Get a sense of humour?!?!” that’s the point. I have one that’s why I have the sense not to steal other comedians work. *deep breath* *count to ten*. I hope you invent something incredible like the self cleaning toilet one day and it gets stolen before you patent it and you cry about it for the rest of your life, alone in some bar, unemployed because you can’t even get a job cleaning toilets because someone already invented a toilet that cleans itself.

There are still a few more status abusers that need to be mentioned, but we’ll do that next week.

I can’t believe I’m friends with you…part 1

Communication is important. Everyone will tell you that from cheesy corporate orientation videos and relationship counsellors to the unemployed mime begging at the street light. Perhaps no market has developed faster in fact than that of communications from smoke signals; to the postal industry; telephones; the internet; cell phones and of course the new kid on the block: social networking sites.

Social networking sites are huge and in fact are the only thing on the internet that people spend more time on than porn. But these social networking sites go in and out of fashion and while one day a site can have millions of members the next it looks like an abandoned amusement park (eg Myspace).

In the end they all try to be like facebook, the most successful of all these sites, but I have to admit I loathe facebook and not for the reasons most people do. I don’t really mind that you send me Farmville requests or that you tag me in photos I’m not in. I ignore you inviting me to events that I have no interest in attending partly because I’m not that into your thrash metal band “Demon Doctor” but mainly because your event isn’t in the same city as me (as “tempting” as a cross-country road trip sounds). None of this concerns me, nor does the poking or friend requests from people I don’t know (or worse that I purposefully ignore).

What does get to me and why I can’t stand facebook is unfortunately its most basic function. I hate (and yes I know its “hate” is a strong word)… status updates.

Maybe I’m coming on a little strong here and people just don’t understand what status updates are for or more importantly what they are not for. Status updates are intended to let people know something interesting – the subject matter may vary, but they should always be interesting. I have managed to separate the different forms of “status abuse” into a few key demographics.

1) Captain Pointless (or mundane)
These updates normally follow with remarks like “and then…” or yawns of boredom all concerns as to which is scarier that someone’s life is that boring or that they took the time to tell everyone about it. Here I’m talking about updates such as “Wow what a delicious sandwich” or “Taking Sam to a movie”. This is facebook’s opportunity to add to the inadequate “like” button and finally add a “yawn” or “meh” button. These statuses are the kind that handbrake conversations at a dinner party where a group will be discussing the latest works by their favourite actors or directors for someone to interrupt with the line “I also like movies”.

2) Trolls…
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the internet slang “troll” it is not a mythical beast bound to caves and billy-goat-trafficked bridges. A troll is someone who makes a comment for the sole purposes of antagonising others and provoking an emotional response. They get some sick sense of accomplishment by posting remarks that cause other people to fight with each other and will often not post a single other response, but sit back and watch other people tear into each other. Comments such as the “PS3 is way better than the X-Box 360” or “Man United are posers” are the types of comments that are designed for no purpose other than bait for the “fan-boy” debates.
Don’t worry there’s more… next week.

How to Survive a Zombie Holocaust (part 2 – tactics)

So you survived another week with your tasty brains intact and are back for more information to prepare you for the impending outbreak of Zombiesm. Well unlike the grandmother who continuously gives you socks for your birthday, I’m not here to disappoint. Today I’d like to discuss some of the more famous survival tactics we’ve seen in movies and games.

The first tactic up for discussion is the stranded on a desert island debate. You’ve just crash landed on some strange tropical island do you a) do everything to get off the island or b) do you suck it up and come to terms with the fact that you’re now living on an island paradise and your boss will have to get someone else’s life to make a living hell.

Now unfortunately, unless you’re already living on an island paradise when the zombie apocalypse occurs the real situation is a little less appealing, but then again, what did you expect from a zombie apocalypse? Whether you decide to work on being rescued or on making yourself comfortable you’re still going to need a safe house of sorts.

The whole zombie apocalypse thing really does bring a new sense to the term “home sweet home” so it’s really in your best interest to make sure it’s a place worth spending most of your time in. Zombies are not known for their engineering ability, so you want to try and put that engineering degree to good use or at the very least all that time you played with Lego as a kid to design yourself a fortress to call home.

There is a lot of debate as to whether animals are a good idea to keep around. Would a dog serve as good warning system; able to sniff out undead rotting corpses and provide protection, or would they simply end up being a loud “survivor’s are here” announcement; an appetizer to a hungry zombie and then worst of all a bloodthirsty zombified dog afterwards or “zombog” (not sure if that is the technical term, but sounds pretty good to me – copyright in process).

With regard to weapons you’re going to want to stick to anything that allows you to keep your distance because like that awkward guy in the cue with halitosis and wearing a trench coat, zombies have some serious issues with “personal space”. While guns are probably your best bet here the obvious problem becomes getting these guns because if you don’t already have a personal arsenal (read aren’t a “redneck)” then you’ll have to be making your way to a guns and ammunition store which unfortunately has risks of its own.

You see what people tend to forget during the fury and festivities that comes from the end of the world, is that some things don’t change namely the fact that the most likely animal to kill a human being is in fact a human being and an even more likely type of human being to kill is one with a lot of guns, a fear of you wanting to take these guns and the lack of any kind of punishment for killing. Not that the courts would ever hear the matter, but I have to think the “he looked like a zombie to me” defence is going to be quite a common “get out of jail free card”.

Your best bet in a zombie apocalypse is really to do you and the world a favour and try to rebuild civilisation. So get all the necessary supplies: food, water and video games and try make a turn past a strip club or two and convince the ladies there to join you because not only will you need help in repopulating the earth, they stand no risk of attracting any zombies to your location with the smell of brains.

Good luck my tasty-brained reader

How to Survive a Zombie Holocaust – part 1 (the rules)

Face the fact, people love zombies, not “love” in a teenager “say anything to exchange bodily fluids sort of way” more in a “love observing violent animals in zoos sort of way” (sooo cuddly!) Why is it that we are fascinated by the thought that one day the entire world will be overrun by bloodthirsty rotting corpses with the insatiable appetite for brain salad? Is it the subtle theme that we are all indeed “zombies” marching around soullessly in our meaningless corporate existence or is it just the idea of running through the streets waving a chainsaw around, carrying more ammunition than redneck on payday, while our boss gets his leg chewed off by zombie accountants?

Regardless, “Zombie culture” is as massive as “Bieber Fever” and only half as brainless. Spawning hundreds of movies, TV series and games, zombie-lore has developed several rules some of which have been modified to suit changes in societal tastes (insert remark about different recipes for Brains here) while others have remained steadfast.
So “what are the rules?” you may ask as if to gather vital information, but instead interrupting the flow of this article which I will have to use as a segue to the next paragraph (sneaky, I know). The rules are as follows…

1) Outbreaks of Zombie-ism (it’s a word now) are usually caused by some sort of virus – Sometimes unleashed by some sort of biblically prophesised verse (although I don’t remember anything in Sunday school about “Then zombies came and they did eat the brains of the living. Amen”), but usually the virus is manmade and cooked up in some laboratory by some corporation as a biological weapon or artificial sweetener, where of course, “nothing could never possibly not go wrong”.

2) While the Zombie outbreak will initially be caused by the disease/virus/military-grade artificial sweetener, the outbreak will reach epidemic proportions once the newly zombified (also a word now) members of society start chewing down on each other’s “thinky-bits” resulting in more zombies. This equates to the dumbest form of procreation that evolution has ever managed to spit out of the primordial soup where an organism whose only method of procreation is also its key source of food. Talk about not being able to have your cake and eat it… where the cake is both your only source of nourishment, as well as for fornication and the preservation of your species – but you try telling that to my nephew after I ruined his birthday party.

3) Zombies can survive pretty much anything except severe damage to their brains or having their heads separated from their bodies (it also appears to work vice versa). As satisfying as it may be to kick your zombified former boss in his nuts this will not stop him lurching towards you to suck your brains out of your skull (I call those “weekdays”). Rather shoot him in the head… then kick him in the nuts.

4) Zombies’ movement abilities are one of those rules that has changed over the course of time. Originally slow lumbering corpses with the mental capacity of soggy toast and the athletic ability of a drunk blind man wearing rollerblades made of banana skins (elaborate analogy, I know) zombies have never been too difficult to outmanoeuvre (except for a certain group of dancing zombies in Michael Jackson thriller video). However, some movies and games decided that slow moving corpses wasn’t exciting enough so instead introduces zombies as feral, bloodthirsty savages with the unnerving speed and strength of a crack addict where your skull is filled with white powder and shiny things. The need to shoot for the head with these guys becomes even more necessary as the ol’ “kick the guy in the nuts and run” technique is going to get you a bite mark shaped haircut.

These are just a few of the rules for surviving a zombie holocaust… stay tuned for more and keep those tasty brains of yours safe.

Un-Real Estate Agents

For those of you who know Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, one of the most fundamental after food and water, is shelter: to maintain bodily integrity, to provide protection from the elements and, of course, a place to keep all our stuff.

Knowing this basic need of all human beings, a truly parasitic organism has found a way to feast on those seeking only a place to call “point A”; a place to leave their hearts; a place to call “home” or at least a haven to avoid colleagues from work. I refer of course, to those known as Real Estate Agents – the word “real” in their job title being about the most real thing about them.

For one, they try to lure you in with their diabolical mangling and manipulation of the English language. One must learn to decipher what each descriptor really means. Clichéd descriptors like “COSY” – which I know from firsthand experience actually means “Small – VERY small” as in “can-touch-all-four-walls-at-the-same-time small”.

Another commonly used description is “well-run block with friendly super”. Those of you have ever fallen for this one will know it actually means “militant nazi-esque regime run by intrusive Big Brother-like superintendent”. Be prepared to sign several sworn affidavits detailing your every movement and hopefully the incessant polygraph tests don’t become too annoying.

I laugh (a very nervous, stifled laugh muted by the painful memories) every time I see a property described as a “DIY dream”. This is quickly translated to “needs work” and if we had to make the phrase a little more “street” one would describe the property as “things be broke” or “Raggedy-Assed” (Feel free to transpose any of the S’s for Dollar Signs, like the youngsters do these days).

Which reminds me, I have a “well-priced (overpriced) modern (will fall apart in months) 2.5 bedroom (2 real rooms and a big cupboard) apartment in a quiet (swarms of old people), centrally located suburb (in the middle of the CBD) for rent” if anyone is interested?

Whether you fall for any of these deceitful descriptions or even if you know better, the unfortunate reality is that you still need property, so you will still need to see a “real” estate agent. In my experience 9 out of every 10 estate agents is some wilted former model/actress/cheerleader who obviously used to be quite attractive and I know this because 9 out of 10 estate agents will tell me this about them within 5 seconds of my meeting them.

The real fun starts when they show you around the property. All I want is for them to open the door; let me see what a dive the place is and then fade away like her youthful looks. I don’t need someone to tell me about the former owners ( I can tell enough about them from their chalk outline on the floor). I don’t need someone to show me a room no bigger than 2 square metres and tell me that I could put a chair in there for entertainment. Can’t wait for that party… “Hey guys, look! A chair! We’ll have to take turns”

There are some who have seen the light; who have refused to stand for the treachery of “realtors” and found a Reality beyond Realty. They have shrugged off the burden of Maslow’s tyrannical pyramid and have defined their own system of needs. I speak of the noble Hobo.
You can say what you want about the homeless, but I’m pretty sure many of them chose the noble life of the hobo over the thought of dealing with another estate agent. So I ask you now, who should pity whom?

For more information about Hobo’s, Hoboism or if you would like to read the Hobo University Curriculum please follow this link (https://totallyawesomename.wordpress.com/2011/04/08/hobo-university-part-1/)

I’m way too competitive… Don’t believe me? I’ll race you!

We all know that a healthy level of competition is good. It keeps us alert, focused and can often help to make even the most mundane of tasks a little more exciting. That’s all good and well, but I’ve passed the stage of healthy competition a LONG time ago; to the point where it can become a threat, not only to my reputation, but also to my safety and to the personal bodily integrity of those around me.

Since I turn everyday activities into competitive duels, you do not want to see what happens when I am actually involved in some sort of “real” competition. I have actually forcibly removed myself on numerous occasions from “friendly” board games owing to my condition. It’s difficult, especially when people are doing badly. I break into a cold sweat; start chewing on my gums and grinding my teeth. People invite me to join, but I equate that to someone offering a recovering drug addict a quick line.

Competition is like a drug to me; one which affects me in a very different way to most others. While most people manage to control their emotion, I just can’t. The game will undoubtedly end in one of two ways. In the first scenario, I will either be unleashing profanities at my ignorant team mates, my cheating competitors or at the game itself for having ludicrous rules when I lose. If I do win, then there will be just as much profanity, but simply directed as abuse towards my fallen opponents. Either way, there will be tears or no further board games or future invites for that matter.

Since I am now running out of places for healthy competition with people who know me (or wish they didn’t) I need to create my own competitions with strangers. One great place to meet unnamed combatants is while shopping. I often eye someone out; sidle my trolley in beside theirs; give them the nod acknowledging that I accept their challenge to a competitive “shop-off”.

They’ll be grabbing an item off the shelf. I’ll grab two. They’ll take a 500g tub. I’ll take the 10kg Family pack (who really needs that much mayonnaise anyway). They’ll grab some green peppers. I’ll grab ten (even though I hate green peppers and am deathly allergic – these are the sacrifices a true competitor has to make). If they take the last of an item I’ll either steal it out of their trolley or find a way to crush the item, nullifying their strategic advantage (it’s all just tactics). You would think that this kind of behaviour would get me kicked out of the store, but the shop owners love the fact that I buy more than anyone else. You hear that? Yeah! They Love me ‘cos I’m the best! In your face!

I race old ladies across busy intersections. I open up giant franchise refreshment stations next to little kids’ lemonade stands (or buy them out if they refuse to leave).

I turn everything into a competition. Who can brush their teeth faster? Who can stay up later? Who can drive towards oncoming traffic the longest? I don’t know why I do it. Maybe it’s to impress people or just to remind everyone how awesome I am, but people don’t seem that impressed that I always come first – in the bedroom, women especially so.

The key though is always to remain humble, which I am. In fact I’m probably the most humble person in the country, if not the world. I’m WAY more humble than you!

It’s all just a popularity contest… and I’m losing

So, I recently posted a video on this little known website which you’ve probably never heard of called “YouTube”. It was a collaborative effort between me and Johannesburg comedian, Deep Fried Man. It received over 8000 hits in 3 days which makes it the greatest thing I have ever done (in YouTube terms – by about 7920 hits, seems people weren’t that interested in footage of my first set). Just to put that into perspective, this video received about as many hits as this blog gets in a month, in about 10 hours.

I’m not sure whether to chalk it down to the fact that it really is a good video (which you are more than welcome to check out for yourself (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3XGUUmfb_Ac ), whether this blog is not actually that good, or if it’s just that Deep Fried is just way more popular than me, but my mom says that’s not the case.

But could it be that I’m not actually that popular? I mean I have a fair few fans on facebook and a few followers on Twitter, but it’s quite easy to become obsessed with these numbers, like it’s some sort of score and he who dies with most followers, wins. It’s like this uncontrollable gold rush for the souls of followers. Even God and Satan are at it with @satan having 23369 followers, while @god has 71337 (whether this is the one true God we’ve been looking for is unknown since the account hasn’t been verified, but then who has the nerve to demand God verifies his account?) Although both would be completely dominated if Kim Kardashian had to form a religion with her 9.4 million followers… although I do believe that is one of the signs of the apocalypse.

These numbers – followers, fans, friends, likes and views! One can get totally obsessed with them completely wearing out the F5 key on your keyboard.

It really is demoralising to look at some of the other things that have more fans than I do on facebook. For example I have barely a fraction of the fans that “Music” has (and yes I mean “music” not even a particular genre) which as of 30 August 2011 had 2,6billion fans and “Movies” had 11billion – COME ON! I like Movies and Music too…like me! Anyway what kind of ridiculous fan page is that to follow? Music? Who the hell doesn’t like music? Not even deaf people hate music. I’m calling Bullshit!

But that’s not where the humiliation stops; I have nowhere near as many fans as “headaches”. Yes that throbbing, pulsing excruciating and blinding pain that can be completely debilitating, has more fans on facebook than I do with 2176 fans. To make it worse, “Death” has more fans… A LOT more fans. Seriously?! Death?! The End of it all? Lack of Life? The thing we all spend billions on trying to avoid for our entire lives has more fans than a guy who makes people laugh? I call Bullshit!

I’m just stoked I beat out belly button lint (not by much though) which only has 240 fans… seriously?!?

The Cure for Criticism

Let’s face it as South African’s there are a few things we take pride in; braaing; our ability to pull things out the fire at the last second (braai meat and big events) and our rampant criminal/political community.

Another thing you can add to that list which is perhaps the embodiment of all three is Rugby. We know rugby; at least we all think we do. One only has to watch a game in a local pub to realise every patron is a coach, referee, former Springbok hopeful or the co-creator of the game itself.

The prevalence and availability of coaches, players and referees seems to increase exponentially when we find ourselves in a position such as we find ourselves at present: Losing (games and seemingly, the plot too). All of a sudden everyone has selection advice for the coaches, tackling techniques for the players and sexual instructions for the referees.

I sit in awe watching overweight, sweaty old men whose greatest achievements appear to be the most incredible beer gut, give advice to virile, strapping, professional athletes on how to tackle other such professional athletes, when they can barely find the skill and agility to keep propped up on their bar stools.

But of course you’re not reading this to hear about the problem and being a true South African I have a answer for everything. The answer? Conscription. It’s that simple. Since we have such a wealth of players, coaches and referees who all think they can do better than those on the field. Give them the chance.

It could be run like the American jury system, whereby every South African could at any point receive a notice in the mail notifying them that they have been selected for Rugby Duty. You wouldn’t know when or where or even what position you’ll be playing until you receive the notification in the mail.

“This document serves as notice that you are to represent your national team “The Springboks”, this weekend against The New Zealand All Blacks.”
“You have been selected for the position of LOCK”
“It is recommended that you attend the training camp this week (to have any hope of survival)”

Let’s see all those “Springbok hopefuls” rough it out in the scrum; try tackle some 120kg behemoth or kick goals from 50m. This will not only solve the problem of people shooting their mouths off at referees, coaches and players, but really show the depth of talent of South African rugby that we keep hearing about. Furthermore, it will actually mean that the old drunk in the corner’s story about playing for the Boks could actually become true (although pretty much everyone in the bar would have a similar story)

The best part about all this is we will still have better selection criteria in place than during the Rudolph Strauli administration.

Parents! Rise Up and Retaliate!

There will always be a generation gap. It may be shrinking or growing depending on who you ask, but as long as parents are waiting for their twenties or thirties to have children there will always be a gap in understanding between generations. At this juncture I must give my kudos to all the teenage mom’s who are trying their best to shrink this gap. I salute you skanks!

With this generation gap comes not only a gap in age and understanding but what each generation relates to and as a result what they perceive as “cool”. All the fads, the bands, the movies and the catchphrases, the fashion, the technologies, the style icons and sex symbols, these all change with each subsequent generation and thankfully so. I don’t need my kids one day perving over a now 60 year old Pamela Anderson.

As part of this change in perspective often comes an inability to relate to our parents and what they thought was “cool” and no matter how hard they try our parents will never ever really “get it” when it comes to our tastes. All too often we hear the teen angst ridden cry of “MOM! You’re embarrassing me in front of my friends!” Usually after either trying to show affection; trying to join in on a teenage conversation about popular media or trying to explain why they’re still “cool”. Probably the worst, “uncoolest” thing you could ever do is try convince a child that you are cool – FYI.

I’m no parent and been embarrassed many times by my parents’ sincere attempts to get involved, but I must say that its time parents fought back. If they kept getting told that they are so embarrassing, its time they shared the favour with their insolent and unappreciative brats, perhaps in a way similar to the following:

“Oh I embarrass you do I? You know who should be embarrassed? Me! You used to piss yourself in public and I had to clean up after you. Remember when you threw up in the shopping mall when you were 5? You don’t think that was embarrassing? When you were born your penis was so small the doctor thought you were a girl. Then for years when we went to movies your choice of movie sucked! Ice Age? Toy Story? Yawn! And then to embarrass me further you started crying in Shrek because it was “too scary”.

Now you’re 14 and you’re still embarrassing. Your acne, your voice breaking and you still pee the bed. I get called in to the principal’s office because you’re failing your tests – then he shouts at me because you’re so stupid. You’re only 12? How can you fail English? You speak it every day and the books they require you to read don’t have words longer than 7 letters in them. And you think my music embarrasses you? You listen to Justin Bieber and the Jonas Brothers squeaking about true love at 16.
You’re embarrassing!”

Of course this may horribly scar your child psychologically and for the rest of their lives, so you would never do so because you love them so much (and psychologists are expensive) but it’s fun to think about doing it every once in a while.