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Yes my friend, these days are sad, uneasy on the heart and painful for the eye. For it is know the time of child abusers. This is no laughing matter, it happens everywhere, England, France even Watford. It is highly likely that you, dear reader, have yourself succumbed to child abuse at one stage of your life.
For, as you and I well know, children are strutting around their houses, waiving wonton threats of social security acts and legal fees, bullying there poor, defenceless parents into such a state of psychotic paranoia that they themselves feel compelled to succumb to their child’s every whim and wish.
In my day, a child would be grateful for a pound, and relish spending it, but these days’ children are abusing their own parents, blackmailing them into giving them ludicrously luminous boxes with green logos and shiny lights. Why, what’s wrong with a normal box, you ask? I know not, my esteemed friend, for many a time have I been found crawled up in and old fruit box, and these "X-Box’s do not even offer shelter.
Perhaps you do not grasp the essence, dear reader, and I shall now relay it in the form of a personal experience. I had a friend, who we shall call Ishmael as no-one is really called that, who was a decent chap. First, we wood run around, playing rugby, tag and catch in the grass, until our loincloths where sullied by the grass and mud kicked up by our flailing limbs.
But then, to my horror, he received a large, rather odd shaped disc player, named, to my horror, a "PlayStation". At this, I wondered what use a port would serve to play, but Ishmael seemed convinced. Then came others, and as he badgered his parents for more boxes and more discs, he grew. Outwards. Unfortunately this growth did not include self growth, and after a while he became so engrossed by his boxes he would not venture outside unless carried by his parents car.
His brother, Emael, was similar. With arguments such as "But everyone else has one!" and other self pitying ideas, his parents bought him well over £300 worth of rectangular card with writing, entitled "Pokemon Cards". This all went to waste as it turned out to be simply a fad, but the abuse went on.
They're household was like a stagnant pit of ruthless money accumulating. He and his brother got more discs and boxes, ever watching magazines and adverts, being sucked into a vicious circle of fashion where the only winners are the sellers. Soon their house was a shack, all money that would have gone to furniture going to discs, and one day they all died of shame.
This does not have to be tolerated, my friend, gentle reader. It is obvious that the cause of this was not Ishmael or Emael, but money itself. How plain it is that we must denounce the world of riches and seek console in the joys of celibacy and poverty.
Children will soon have power over us all. Their cherub like faces must be cleansed, their soft skin purged, and they must be taught to live as us. Money is to blame but it is children who suffer. Why must families live in fear of their children's greed I ask?
Why indeed?
For, as you and I well know, children are strutting around their houses, waiving wonton threats of social security acts and legal fees, bullying there poor, defenceless parents into such a state of psychotic paranoia that they themselves feel compelled to succumb to their child’s every whim and wish.
In my day, a child would be grateful for a pound, and relish spending it, but these days’ children are abusing their own parents, blackmailing them into giving them ludicrously luminous boxes with green logos and shiny lights. Why, what’s wrong with a normal box, you ask? I know not, my esteemed friend, for many a time have I been found crawled up in and old fruit box, and these "X-Box’s do not even offer shelter.
Perhaps you do not grasp the essence, dear reader, and I shall now relay it in the form of a personal experience. I had a friend, who we shall call Ishmael as no-one is really called that, who was a decent chap. First, we wood run around, playing rugby, tag and catch in the grass, until our loincloths where sullied by the grass and mud kicked up by our flailing limbs.
But then, to my horror, he received a large, rather odd shaped disc player, named, to my horror, a "PlayStation". At this, I wondered what use a port would serve to play, but Ishmael seemed convinced. Then came others, and as he badgered his parents for more boxes and more discs, he grew. Outwards. Unfortunately this growth did not include self growth, and after a while he became so engrossed by his boxes he would not venture outside unless carried by his parents car.
His brother, Emael, was similar. With arguments such as "But everyone else has one!" and other self pitying ideas, his parents bought him well over £300 worth of rectangular card with writing, entitled "Pokemon Cards". This all went to waste as it turned out to be simply a fad, but the abuse went on.
They're household was like a stagnant pit of ruthless money accumulating. He and his brother got more discs and boxes, ever watching magazines and adverts, being sucked into a vicious circle of fashion where the only winners are the sellers. Soon their house was a shack, all money that would have gone to furniture going to discs, and one day they all died of shame.
This does not have to be tolerated, my friend, gentle reader. It is obvious that the cause of this was not Ishmael or Emael, but money itself. How plain it is that we must denounce the world of riches and seek console in the joys of celibacy and poverty.
Children will soon have power over us all. Their cherub like faces must be cleansed, their soft skin purged, and they must be taught to live as us. Money is to blame but it is children who suffer. Why must families live in fear of their children's greed I ask?
Why indeed?
Ah, but isn't everything exgagerated nonsense?
Having trowled through 'A Confederacy of Dunces' I believe that it is.
Also yeah... Has anyone watched those programs where the TV Channel sends in a Super Nanny or the like? They're wierd, and they have creepy punishments like locking your child in a storage room for 5 minutes and making them sit on the stairs...
Having trowled through 'A Confederacy of Dunces' I believe that it is.
Also yeah... Has anyone watched those programs where the TV Channel sends in a Super Nanny or the like? They're wierd, and they have creepy punishments like locking your child in a storage room for 5 minutes and making them sit on the stairs...
Parents are too soft on kids these days.
When a parent says no, then the child should obey. If not, then the child should be punished.
I'm not talking about any kind of physical punishment, just something that'll make the child think again before causing more trouble.
I like the fact that the other name was 'Emael'...or is that 'Email'?
However, I do see the story as exaggerated nonsense.
When a parent says no, then the child should obey. If not, then the child should be punished.
I'm not talking about any kind of physical punishment, just something that'll make the child think again before causing more trouble.
I like the fact that the other name was 'Emael'...or is that 'Email'?
However, I do see the story as exaggerated nonsense.
Yes my friend, these days are sad, uneasy on the heart and painful for the eye. For it is know the time of child abusers. This is no laughing matter, it happens everywhere, England, France even Watford. It is highly likely that you, dear reader, have yourself succumbed to child abuse at one stage of your life.
For, as you and I well know, children are strutting around their houses, waiving wonton threats of social security acts and legal fees, bullying there poor, defenceless parents into such a state of psychotic paranoia that they themselves feel compelled to succumb to their child’s every whim and wish.
In my day, a child would be grateful for a pound, and relish spending it, but these days’ children are abusing their own parents, blackmailing them into giving them ludicrously luminous boxes with green logos and shiny lights. Why, what’s wrong with a normal box, you ask? I know not, my esteemed friend, for many a time have I been found crawled up in and old fruit box, and these "X-Box’s do not even offer shelter.
Perhaps you do not grasp the essence, dear reader, and I shall now relay it in the form of a personal experience. I had a friend, who we shall call Ishmael as no-one is really called that, who was a decent chap. First, we wood run around, playing rugby, tag and catch in the grass, until our loincloths where sullied by the grass and mud kicked up by our flailing limbs.
But then, to my horror, he received a large, rather odd shaped disc player, named, to my horror, a "PlayStation". At this, I wondered what use a port would serve to play, but Ishmael seemed convinced. Then came others, and as he badgered his parents for more boxes and more discs, he grew. Outwards. Unfortunately this growth did not include self growth, and after a while he became so engrossed by his boxes he would not venture outside unless carried by his parents car.
His brother, Emael, was similar. With arguments such as "But everyone else has one!" and other self pitying ideas, his parents bought him well over £300 worth of rectangular card with writing, entitled "Pokemon Cards". This all went to waste as it turned out to be simply a fad, but the abuse went on.
They're household was like a stagnant pit of ruthless money accumulating. He and his brother got more discs and boxes, ever watching magazines and adverts, being sucked into a vicious circle of fashion where the only winners are the sellers. Soon their house was a shack, all money that would have gone to furniture going to discs, and one day they all died of shame.
This does not have to be tolerated, my friend, gentle reader. It is obvious that the cause of this was not Ishmael or Emael, but money itself. How plain it is that we must denounce the world of riches and seek console in the joys of celibacy and poverty.
Children will soon have power over us all. Their cherub like faces must be cleansed, their soft skin purged, and they must be taught to live as us. Money is to blame but it is children who suffer. Why must families live in fear of their children's greed I ask?
Why indeed?
For, as you and I well know, children are strutting around their houses, waiving wonton threats of social security acts and legal fees, bullying there poor, defenceless parents into such a state of psychotic paranoia that they themselves feel compelled to succumb to their child’s every whim and wish.
In my day, a child would be grateful for a pound, and relish spending it, but these days’ children are abusing their own parents, blackmailing them into giving them ludicrously luminous boxes with green logos and shiny lights. Why, what’s wrong with a normal box, you ask? I know not, my esteemed friend, for many a time have I been found crawled up in and old fruit box, and these "X-Box’s do not even offer shelter.
Perhaps you do not grasp the essence, dear reader, and I shall now relay it in the form of a personal experience. I had a friend, who we shall call Ishmael as no-one is really called that, who was a decent chap. First, we wood run around, playing rugby, tag and catch in the grass, until our loincloths where sullied by the grass and mud kicked up by our flailing limbs.
But then, to my horror, he received a large, rather odd shaped disc player, named, to my horror, a "PlayStation". At this, I wondered what use a port would serve to play, but Ishmael seemed convinced. Then came others, and as he badgered his parents for more boxes and more discs, he grew. Outwards. Unfortunately this growth did not include self growth, and after a while he became so engrossed by his boxes he would not venture outside unless carried by his parents car.
His brother, Emael, was similar. With arguments such as "But everyone else has one!" and other self pitying ideas, his parents bought him well over £300 worth of rectangular card with writing, entitled "Pokemon Cards". This all went to waste as it turned out to be simply a fad, but the abuse went on.
They're household was like a stagnant pit of ruthless money accumulating. He and his brother got more discs and boxes, ever watching magazines and adverts, being sucked into a vicious circle of fashion where the only winners are the sellers. Soon their house was a shack, all money that would have gone to furniture going to discs, and one day they all died of shame.
This does not have to be tolerated, my friend, gentle reader. It is obvious that the cause of this was not Ishmael or Emael, but money itself. How plain it is that we must denounce the world of riches and seek console in the joys of celibacy and poverty.
Children will soon have power over us all. Their cherub like faces must be cleansed, their soft skin purged, and they must be taught to live as us. Money is to blame but it is children who suffer. Why must families live in fear of their children's greed I ask?
Why indeed?