'Tis the Season to be Bratty

Speaking of colonialism (see the previous post)....

A recent article in The Daily Mail profiles a British teen who is not fucking around when it comes to Christmas.

Mekeeda Austin's mother found the following letter in her 13-year-old daughter's backpack:



AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

I think what really takes it over the edge--you know, after the threat to kill, cook, and serve up Santa's reindeer--is her smiley-face and 'xoxo' signature. This chick is cray.

I'm not exactly sure how this made the local news, though. Did the mom call someone? Did the girl post it on her FB page? How did it get from her backpack to The Daily Mail?

I mean, if they're going to run a human-interest story, they should really focus on the news-worthy part--her hot-mess mom, Tracey:

[H]er mother Tracey, 40, is not punishing her for the letter and has vowed to meet her daughter's demands saying: 'You don't want to get on the wrong side of Mekeeda.

'When I first found the letter I thought it was funny, now I think I better get her what she wants, the last thing I want is for her to kill Santa. 'I know it sounds like she is spoilt but I like to get my daughter what she wants also you don't want to get on the wrong side of her.'"

Is she telling us her daughter is a sociopath and her life is being threatened on a regular basis? I mean, considering this is the opening pic in the article, I wouldn't be surprised.

AAAAHHHH!!!!

Tracy is described as a "stay-at-home mother," which I can't imagine being particularly lucrative (there's no mention of another parent/head of household). Although she admits that Mekeeda "will probably lose the Blackberry," she's still going to get it for her.
Why doesn't she get her some spinning gold rims while she's at it? I think her money would be better spent on a year of therapy (for both of them), don't you?
#whyI'mneverhavingkids

#whyblackpeoplecan'thavenicethings

Where Am I?

So, I'm sitting here, packaging artists' slides and listening to music, creating a cocoon of productivity, when the mail guy rolls by my cubicle/veal pen with his cart. Mail guy is middle aged, bald, and has about 2 good teeth-- hot mess. He likes to chat, and I try to be friendly, so we have a rapport (and sometimes I get free interoffice envelopes). However, I do like to maintain a certain distance-- not only due to his breath, but because he's a little too chatty for my taste.

And this time, he went a bit too far.

"Hey Naomi, I got something for you."

I turn around, as mail guy often says this-- and it's ALWAYS MAIL. I mean, what else would he have for me? Yet, he always says he's got "something," as though we have secret exchanges. Hmm... maybe he's referring to the same PACKAGE as R. Kelly.

Anyway, I look and see that mail guy is holding.... a giant plastic green bottle, filled with confetti, a copy of Parenting magazine (with Shrek on the cover), and other treats.

WHAT?!

"That is not for me, Mail Guy."

"Yes it is, look," he says, gesturing towards the bottles opening, where there is a large slit. "It's a piggy bank, too. I thought you could use it. It's a bottle and it's a piggy bank."

Again, I ask, WHAT?!

"Mail Guy, give that to whoever it belongs to."

He begins to roll away, laughing, "You know I take care of you, girl. I look out."

What is happening today?

The bottle was this big. Seriously. Wait, no-- it was BIGGER.