The other day in small town U.S.A, we had a four day street fair to celebrate the 4th of July. Yes, four days of celebrating Trump’s America. If I found out that my tax money was being used to put privileged kids on ferris-wheels under the reigning president cheeto, I might be a little salty. Moving on.
As I was walking down the street to my car, I passed by the performance stage where people had been singing for most of the day. Without looking up, I heard a voice coming out of the microphone that made me want to knock myself unconscious. I proceeded to get out my phone and record the voice on Snapchat as I kept walking, still not looking up to see who was singing. When I finally reached my car, I saw that the singer was a child. A child who looked to be about five or six years old. I had quite a few thoughts in that moment –
1st thought: You just made fun of someone who left their heart and soul on that stage.
2nd thought: You just made fun of a CHILD that left their heart and soul on that stage.
3rd thought: What if I have children and accidentally laugh at them?
4th thought: What if my children think they’re weird because I’m always laughing at them?
5th thought: You should probably make a better poker face so they can maintain some semblance of confidence.
6th thought: I can’t do that. The fuckers are doomed.
Yes, I feel bad now. Yes, I still think it’s funny. Will I actually laugh at my children? Probably, but not in front of them. I’ll do that later over a glass of wine while they’re asleep. This probably sounds evil, but you’ve thought it. I was just the one to say it.