Kicking and Screaming

I took a trip to the store today to pick up a few essential items, such as bulk fiber laxative, fish oil capsules, a copy of Soap Opera Digest and a yo-yo. I was, of course, shopping at Walmart because I am a horrible hypocrite whose hatred of the globalist corporate power structure is outweighed by my need to save what little money is left to me after that ravenous monster of federal and state taxes has pretty much taken a huge ravenous monster bite out of my paycheck, and then invited its ravenous monster friends, the local and state sales taxes, to come sate themselves on the still warm corpse of my earnings. Whatever is left after this horrific blood feast is then given to me as beneficent offering to do with as I please. Of course, as an American citizen, I am more than happy to suffer through this trauma, taking comfort in the knowledge that my sacrifice will provide free condoms to horny underprivileged teenagers all across this great land of ours. But I digress.

While standing in the checkout line, contemplating all the ways my daily life could be improved with the impulse purchase of a Sham-Wow, I was quite suddenly torn from my reverie by the most nerve-jarring, spine-spanking shriek to leave the lips of a human mouth since Celine Dion's famous Titanic ballad assaulted the public airwaves around the clock for about three years in the late 90's.

I looked around to see whence this incredible noise had emanated. Right ahead of me in the checkout line, was a toddler in a stroller kicking his legs and screaming with a vocal power so phenomenal that it would make Maria Callas sound like Paris Hilton. Of course, his young mother was completely oblivious to his prolonged wailing, as she blissfully counted out her coupons and money to the clearly-frazzled check out woman. At that moment I found myself wishing that I had the power to administer the Vulcan neck pinch. On one level, I knew that I lacked this ability, but on another level, I really wanted to give it a try anyway. Instead, all I could do was sound the alarm when this precious bundle of joy took into his tiny little tear- and snot-soaked hands the screaming-toddler-sized Carl's Jr. beverage that had been unwisely left before him in the stroller's cup holder. Like a pint-sized Kim Jong-il, he held it aloft as high as his stubby little arms could manage and defiantly threatened, before the entire world community, to chuck it onto the tile floor of the checkout line. The young mother finally took notice and sprang into action, snatching the dangerous beverage from his grasp and setting it in a safe location (that being the cup holder on the stroller from which the beverage had been procured in the first place). Fortunately, our ill-tempered Pavarotti decided against a second attempt with the soda and instead resumed his blood-curdling kicking and howling.

As I watched the young mother wheel her half-human, half-banshee progeny out the door, I realized that I had just found a new appreciation for taxpayer-funded programs providing free condoms for underprivileged youth. Go USA!