Just when you thought it had been waaay too long since I’d written a letter to an ass hat parent, something happened that told me it’s time. And oh, it’s time.
Let me set the scene:
10:42 p.m. Friday night: Family, having finished decorating the tree, is sitting on the couch in front of said tree listening to Christmas music; Mother and Father are enjoying a glass of wine with their feet up, cats are asleep in front of the fire, everyone is happily involved with their individual screened devices.
10:43 p.m.: Doorbell rings repeatedly. Mother and Father look at each other, alarmed at the late hour; younger daughter yelps in fright. Father jumps up.
10:43:05: Loud explosion from front porch. Mother and Father rush to look out window that frames front door to see liquid running down it and 2-liter bottle of Diet Coke sitting in pot of spruce tips that Mother had painstakingly arranged the week before.
10:43:20: Car revs engine and peels off from curb in front of family home.
10:43:59: Father hands Mother a baseball bat and runs out the door. Mother thinks baseball is a bad idea. Father gets in car and chases getaway car. Children worried that Father may not return. Mother wonders if Father’s life insurance policy is still good.
10:47: Father returns with the news that getaway car got away.
10:48: Father calls police.
10:53: Police arrive, discover a tube of Mentos candy in bottle of Diet Coke. Tell Father they will patrol neighborhood.
11 p.m.: Family googles “Mentos in Diet Coke.” Cool. Family returns to positions on couch, resume screen staring. Mother pours more wine.
11:29: Doorbell rings rings rings. Father shouts inappropriate words and jumps up. Younger daughter looks frightened, not so much as a result of the doorbell as by Father’s choice of vocabulary. Mother chugs her wine and follows Father to door. Children cower in family room.
11:29:08: Family discovers another bottle of Diet Coke on porch, yet this one has not exploded. Father, not wanting to grab it and lose an eye, calls police. Again.
11:33: Police arrive. Again. Officer takes bottle of unexploded Diet Coke. It’s proving to be a long night patrolling the sticks and he’s gonna need the caffeine.
11:35: Father has brilliant idea. Father sets up video camera on bar stool. Father prints signs with large font that read, “COPS WERE CALLED” and “YOU ARE ON CAMERA.” Suck it baseball bat, Father’s got game.
Saturday night, 10:00 p.m.: Father resets video camera up on stool.
11:32: Father, Mother and younger daughter in basement heavily involved in a “Cheaper By The Dozen” marathon (older daughter not present. Mother ventures upstairs to refill wine glass (which is necessary when you are watching a marathon of Cheaper By The Dozen).
11:32:12: Doorbell rings rings rings.
11:32:13: Mother yells yells yells for Father.
11:32:15: Father takes all 18 stairs up from basement in three leaps. Runs to front door. Mother hides in laundry room. Younger daughter hides on basement stairs.
11:32:17: Father does not see anything on porch but sees that video camera is still rolling. Father, Mother and younger daughter scream with delight.
11:33: Father calls police using the number he now has on speed dial. Officer bummed there’s not another 2-liter of Diet Coke, but comes over to sit by driveway for a bit anyway.
11:35: Father rewinds tape. Family thrilled to discover filmed footage of black-hoodied kid creeping onto porch, ringing doorbell and bolting away. Family severely disappointed they do not recognize the vandal. Mother takes screenshots and quickly blasts it out on Facebook to neighbors. Father’s not the only one who’s got game.
11:42: Father replaces intimidating signs on window, younger daughter places cardboard cutout of Peeta Mellark by window for further intimidation. He’s killed teenagers before.
11:58: Mother refills wine glass, looks at the time, wonders what the hell the parents of the little shit are doing, and begins composing the following letter.
Dear ass hat parents of the little shit who coke bombed my front porch,
Like the “Asshat Letters?” There’s more! Because as long as there’s asshat parents, I’ll keep writing letters.
The second letter