Creepypasta #985: Why I Hate Kids
You like kids? Be honest. Because I don’t. Oh sure, babies are cute, as long as I don’t have to take care of them. But once they’re old enough to make smartass comments, they bother me.
Take the gang of brats outside right now. There are six of them, all about five years old, all of them snot-nosed and obnoxious. The courtyard is supposed to be for the entire apartment complex, but they’ve taken the whole thing over. I couldn’t even barbecue last weekend without them bugging me. I eventually told them to shut the hell up. One of them cried, and another of the little shits wiggled his butt at me. He’s lucky I didn’t chuck a plate at him.
You’d think their parents would have yelled at them for bothering the neighbors, but nope. Today they’re out there talking to a teddy bear. They’ve got him elevated on a pile of boxes. I guess he’s King Teddy? At least they’re being quiet for the moment. Maybe I can actually get some work done.
Yes, work. Something those kids have no concept of. When I was their age, I was already doing deals. Ten Transformers for a scooter. Three Pokemon cards for a pizza. Whatever the product, I could sell it, and still can.
The secret is to convince people that they can’t live without it. That was true for toys and it’s even more true for housing. For instance, today I’m calling a prospective buyer about a house I’m brokering on the East Side. It’s a bit out of his price range (he and his wife just had a kid), but all I need to do is bend the truth a little and he’ll sign the papers.
What’s that, you say? I’m a liar? You should understand that “lies” in the sales world are really just another form of negotiation. When I tell him that he can afford the home even after the interest rate adjusts in year five, that’s not a lie, because I use the word “can.” He’s perfectly capable of making more money; who am I to limit his earning power?
But right as I’m about to make the call, the racket starts up. I walk over to the back window. The little runts are banging away with hammer and nails.
“Hey! What the hell you think you’re doing?”
One of the twerps, this curly-haired boy with a Batman shirt, says, “We’re building something top secret!”
“Yeah and you can’t see it,” says a redhead girl, “so go away!”
“Listen to me, you little turds! I can have your families evicted if you don’t shut up!”
“We’re sorry,” says a chubby kid. “We’ll be more careful. I’m Richard, by the way.”
Wow, one of them has manners? This is new. Maybe they’re not all scumbags, after all. “Apology accepted. Thank you, Richard. Please keep a close eye on your less well-mannered friends.” I slam the window closed and go back to work.
And what do you know: I seal the deal. Those little brats might actually be good luck. After just half an hour of haggling, I got the guy to commit to a long-term financing deal. I hang up and text the bros for an epic weekend barbecue.
If the league of snot machines wants to get in our way, so be it. I will give full permission to my partying brethren to kick any troublesome schoolkid right in the ass. I decide to spy on them some more to make sure they’re not screwing up my deck chair.
What do you know – they’re screwing up my deck chair. I run downstairs and lay into them: “Now what the hell is this? You’re nailing boards to my furniture?”
“It’s just temporary,” says Richard.
“Nails? Nails aren’t temporary, bro. Your parents will have to pay for this.”
“Maybe we can pay for it,” he says. “How do you know we don’t have jobs?”
I knew it. Even the one kid who I thought was OK turns out to be a smartass.
“We got more than jobs,” says the redhead girl, “We got rules, and we got ways to keep em.”
“Ain’t that right, Teddy,” says Batman shirt. The teddy bear he referred to sat in my deck chair.
“I think we’re ready,” says Richard. He gives a signal and the rest of the kids tilt the chair back. Some of the other kids have what looks like a stop sign on a pole.
“Oh you’re stealing traffic signs?” I say. “Now you’re definitely getting evicted.”
But they ignore me. They’re too busy building their stupid little fort or whatever it is. I watch, amused. as Richard positions the teddy bear’s neck right underneath the stop sign. The sign has scuff marks all over it from them sharpening the edges. It drops down and cuts the teddy bear’s head off.
I laugh as tufts of cotton fly everywhere. “Holy shit! I have to admit, that’s pretty funny. So not only do you destroy other people’s property, you’re making dangerous weapons.”
“It’s not a weapon,” says Batman shirt. “It’s a gee-ya-teen.”
“Oh is it. Well isn’t that adorable. So tell me, what did Mr. Bear do to deserve the death penalty?”
“Death penalty?” says Richard. He laughs, and the other kids follow suit. “We can’t kill teddy. He’s just a stuffed animal.”
“Yeah,” says another kid with huge glasses and buckteeth. “He’s just helping us.”
“Oh?” I say, and laugh again just at the sight of this kid. “What’s he helping you with?”
“He’s helping us make sure it works,” he says, and I feel the hard whack of a baseball bat on the back of my head.
Now I’m here in this closet. I had a pen in my pocket and I found an envelope on the ground. Hopefully someone sees this in time. If you’re reading this, please send help to 817 Westerberg Lane.
Credits to: finewiththefog