Nowadays, it's all too common for a 15-year-old to have his third kid by his 16th birthday, or for a household to have a mother who gets the holy blue hell beaten out of her daily by her 8-year-old. Kids are becoming more dominant in the household, and I have come up with the perfect solution to solve this problem permanently.
No, it's not allowing parents to beat their kids senseless across the lips with a hammer for mouthing off. I have a more effective, emotionally scarring way to make sure your little failed abortion will never skip class to impregnate his girlfriend, or hang out with a bunch of 27-year-old ninth graders whose teeth are rotted out from meth.
My program is called “Dial-a-Pedophile.” Here is my proposed infomercial:
(Mildred Lukowski, mother, is yelling at her son, Jimmy Lukowski, for his unacceptable behavior.)
MOM: Jimmy Andrew Lukowski! It is 3am and you are just walking in the door! Where have you been since last Christmas?
Since your child fits the profile of a future wife abuser and meth overdoser, you'll get the creepiest, hairiest, oldest member on staff!
JIMMY: FUCK YOU, MOM! I need to crash here tonight because my girlfriend's mom kicked me out for beating her daughter senseless after I found out she was pregnant with my fifth child.
MOM: OHHHHHH! So you think you can just come home whenever you feel like it?!
JIMMY: Uh, yeah you fat whore! By the way, I need to use your car tomorrow, me and Lamar are going to the Queensbridge Projects. They have this whore house there where the hookers will suck the coke off your cock!
MOM: Don't use that kind of language in front of me, young man! You are not using my car to go to a whore house!
JIMMY: WANNA BET? (Jimmy grabs his mother and slams her head against the kitchen sink. He pulls out a .44 Magnum and points it at her head) So, mom… can I use your car tomorrow? In fact, I need it now. I'll go park in an alleyway and sleep, because this house smells like SHIT anyway.
MOM: THE KEYS ARE ON THE KITCHEN TABLE, PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!
JIMMY: Thanks, mom! Love you! (He kisses his mom, takes the keys, and runs away, firing a bullet at his mom's goldfish tank as he goes) FUCK YOU, MOM! You are why Dad's dead, you ugly skank!
MOM: What do I do? My son just does not listen to me!
(Out of nowhere, Michael Troupe appears behind her and puts his hand on her shoulder)
MICHAEL: Well, Mildred, you should try Dial-a-Pedophile! It's the surefire way to make sure your child will never fire ammunition in your house or call you a leg-spreading prostitute ever again!
MOM: H-How's it work?
Convicted sex offender actors like Charlie are standing by now to “molest” your child!
MICHAEL: Well, let me explain. Dial-a-Pedophile has several actors on staff that resemble fat, balding, creepy looking sex offenders with cravings for prepubescent anus, such as 14-year-old Jimmy's! Simply by dialing 1-800-PEDOPHILE, one of these “sex offenders” will come to your house and attempt to put the moves on your problem child!
MOM: But, Jimmy will probably shank him to death with a wooden spoon!
MICHAEL: Nonsense! Since your child fits the profile of a future wife abuser and meth overdoser, you'll get the creepiest, hairiest, oldest member on staff! Jimmy will be so petrified, he won't even run or fire a bullet!
MOM: He's not actually going to molest my son, is he?
MICHAEL: Oh no, no. He's a paid actor, not an actual pedophile. By performing fellatio on a Popsicle and other equally creepy performances, he'll just give Jimmy the impression that he's going to be penetrated. Right before the supposed penetration, you burst in and point and laugh at your son! We'll even have a hidden surveillance camera recording everything! After the scare, we'll give you copies of the tape so you can distribute them to your son's friends! Of course, the video feed will “mysteriously cut out” right before you jump in to laugh so that his friends think he got raped by a fat, balding 60-year-old man!
MOM: This sounds like it could work! I want in!
MICHAEL: Okay, then for your case, you will get Ralph! He's $1,000, but trust me, your son will be so frightened of you after this that he'll clean all the dishes, put out the trash, walk the dog, and only talk when spoken to! It's a mother's dream come true.
MOM: Count me in!
* * *
(Next day, Jimmy comes home)
JIMMY: Mom, cops towed the car into a junkyard after they pulled me over for DUI and heroin possession. Guess you have to get a new car. …Mom?! Hellloooo….
(Suddenly, Ralph appears. He is 300 pounds and bald, wearing gray sweatpants, sandals, and no shirt. He has so much back hair that the city sends him notices to mow it. He has no hair on his chest or stomach though. He is fellating a Popsicle.)
RALPH: Hey, Jimmy! Mom's not home, only your new daddy!
JIMMY: W-Who are y-you?
RALPH: You're new best friend. Now, why don't you help me lather my breasts with this margarine as I fellate this Popsicle. …You looked scared, Jimmy. Like you're afraid I'm going to have sex with you or something.
(Jimmy stands frozen. Ralph approaches Jimmy slowly, and grabs him by the arm. He dips Jimmy's hand in the tub of margarine.)
RALPH: Now, dip your fragile little hands into the margarine and then massage my moobs. They'll need to be licked off afterwards too, because I can't keep margarine all over me. Or you can slide on my chest, whatever you prefer.
JIMMY: MOM! MOM! THERE'S A CHILD MOLESTOR IN THE HOUSE! MOM!!
RALPH: Oh your mother is not here. She said she was so heartbroken by the way you treat her that she gave me the house and signed your custody papers over to me. Oh and those pants look like they're making you feel uncomfortable, why not loosen your belt?
JIMMY: N-N-N-N-NOOOO! Th-this is not…. You'll r-r-r-rape me every day!
RALPH: I wouldn't so much call it rape….more like, bonding. Ahhhhh, rape sounds about right. Your mother knew I had 25 counts of endangering the welfare of a child, but she insisted on me taking care of you. Shows how much you fucked up on being a “great son,” huh, Johnny? Your mother would rather have you plowed every day by a 60-year-old convicted sex offender than deal with your shit daily. By the way, you're to call me “Poppa Ralph,” otherwise I'll piss on you. GOT IT? Now, start lathering, my little concubine.
(Jimmy begins crying as he starts to lather Ralph with butter)
RALPH: HA, your hands are like that of a girl! Here, wear this wig and put on this lipstick, it'll suit you perfectly. In fact, your new name is Lucinda!
(Jimmy puts on the wig and lipstick and begins crying)
JIMMY: P-P-Please don't rape me!
RALPH: QUIET! Take off your pants!
JIMMY: B-B-But, I-I-I'm not wearing underwear!
RALPH: Oh nevermind then! You don't need to take them off.
JIMMY: Okay… thank you…. Poppa Ralph…
RALPH: In fact, I'll pull them down for you with my teeth. No need for you to lose sweat, you'll need it all in about 10 minutes! (Ralph gets on his knees and puts Jimmy's pants button in his mouth) Now sing “Hit Me Baby One More Time”! And sound like a girl as you do it!
JIMMY: H-H-Hit me baby, one more (sob) t-t-time!
RALPH: Good Lucinda! Ah, got the button undone, I bet you have a nice set of girl legs. I need to buy you a set of stockings and high heels! Now, THE ZIPPER!
(Mom walks in and begins pointing and laughing)
MOM: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! LOOK AT YOU! You thought you were going to get raped! That'll teach you to misbehave ever again!
RALPH: Yeah, Jimmy. Even though your mom hired me to pretend that I was going to use your ass as target practice, she loves you. She just wants you to love her back and for you to respect her. She wants you to grow up to be an outstanding man, not someone who hangs out with the local crackheads. So go over there and hug your mom.
(Jimmy runs to his mom and gives her a big hug)
JIMMY: I'm sorry, Mom! I'll never pistol whip you again!
MOM: Ahhahaha!! You're wearing a wig, and your hands are coated in butter! Ahahaha!
MICHAEL: That's right, Dial-a-Pedophile will prevent your son from becoming the next Zodiac Killer or mob boss, and prevent your daughter from becoming the slut who gave the entire town HIV! Just call 1-800-PEDOPHILE and we'll have a creepy old man at your house today!
* * *
I think if implemented, this system would be 100 times more effective than kicking the shit out of your kids. Nothing will scare your kid more than knowing he is about to be fat, balding Ralph's newest chew toy. Next time he thinks about mouthing off, he'll have the memory of Ralph undoing his pants button with his teeth etched in his brain! That'll teach the little bastards to disrespect their parents.