A pudgy, sweaty kid outside a Mexican restaurant with a puff paint shirt that said 'I survived third grade'.
Well you know what - I should certainly fucking hope so. I'm sure that little junior misses section princess is the apple (or Dorito) of mom and dad's eye, but kid if you think that long division and packed lunches are something to 'survive', get the Twinkies ready, because life is going to be a real disappointing shitfest for you.
P.s. I may or may not be misdirecting some anger tonight. It's been a long couple of days. Sorry kid.
