12:13 p.m., 13.12.03
Another McRant

Yesterday I swallowed a fly.

I don't know WHY I swallowed a fly.

Perhaps I'll die.

I get this recurring daydream - it's something that pops into my head every now and then that upsets me, and I'm sure it happens to others as well.

It's a fatherhood daydream, or daynightmare, in which I'm trying to convince my son (it's usually a son) to eat *real* food and not Maccas and flouro cereals.

I see the little tyke stomping and yelling and screaming and moaning as I try to foist a bowl of fruity muesli upon him. I see myself trying to make my home-cooked burgers look like McShitburgers. I see the utter look of disappointment on his face when he realises his sandwich isn't branded and comes with no cuntish little free toy.

I see myself pleadingly trying to explain how Ronald isn't his friend (as an aside, this reminds me of a Ronald statue in the Warrnambool Maccas that was meant to talk to kids if you sat on his lap. Of course the kids worked out very quickly that it was just a touch sensitive pad on his lap that made him talk, so I watched in horror as a bunch of four year olds fought each other for the privilege of stroking Ronnie's cock so he'd say things like "You can be my best friend!").

I think the worst thing about this little daydream, however, is the knowledge that I was exactly that kind of little turd to my own parents.

Do you know how thoroughly depressing that is?

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