SATAN HAD A BABY AND HE NAMED THE BASTARD BROCK

So last night, a bunch of us neighbors are standing in the street, because that's what we do around here. After dinner, we all meet out in the cul-de-sac and get to know each other better.

My neighbor Tad just got married last month to an incredibly beautiful woman named Brenda.

Tad's a minister.

I'm hoping for his sake that he's wearing that shit out on a nightly basis and not holding back because of his love for the Lord. The gal looks to be high maintenance and he'd better be tickling that ass if that's what it'll take to keep her.

Alas, I digress.

Brenda has a four year-old son named Brock.

Brock is what politically correct people call "all boy".

"Look at that kid pulling that frog's legs off! He's all boy!"

Me?

I'm not so politically correct. Political correctness is like a tight necktie to me. It strangles me and makes me look bad.

I think Brock's a little punk-assed bitch.

After officially living in our neighborhood for a month or so, Brock is pretty sure he owns the place.

Oftentimes, I'll go outside and Brock's riding his bicycle up and down our driveway.

I don't mind this. All the neighborhood kids love our driveway because it's the only one in the neighborhood that has a slight slope to it, giving them the much needed momentum that allows them to crash into my mailbox at the end of the driveway.

Brock though...Brock likes to climb to the top of our driveway and then go riding through our grass rather than the driveway.

I've told Brock to stay on the driveway and tried to be nice about it.

Brock doesn't listen.

Brock needs his arm dislocated from his shoulder in order to teach him a little respect.

So anyway, last night we're outside. There's about four families outside, all gossiping about the young couple who have recently separated on our cul-de-sac.

There's about five kids on bicycles riding up and down the street.

Then there's Brock.

Brock had decided he wants to play "Ride Circles Around The Adults And Get As Dangerously Close To Them As You Can Because Your New Daddy Is A Minister And There's No Way He'll Punish You."

So while we're talking, we're keeping a nervous eye out for Brock as he zips around in our circle of adults, laughing hysterically like the little satanic youth that he is.

Then he decides to play a new game.

"Ride Circles Around Andrew Because Andrew Is Shy."

As soon as he starts this, Brenda tells him to stop.

Brock laughs and keeps doing it.

Andrew looks horrified.

I fight the urge to backhand this little bitch off his bicycle so I merely grab Andrew in my arms and tell Brock that he shouldn't do that around small children.

"He's okay," Brock protests while riding around me so close that his handlebars graze my thighs.

"Yes, but you can hurt someone like that," I say, politely leaving the phrase "you dirty little fucker" off the end of the sentence.

Bottom line, my kid is NOT a fucking traffic cone for Brock to test his driving skills on.

The kid is FOUR and he thinks he's a BMX racer.

I've decided that I'm going to wait until Brenda and Tad aren't looking.

Then I'm going to twist that kid's ear until he falls to the ground in pain.

It's his word against mine.

Dangerous little fucker.