Spoiled Rotten

Bri squealed Deliverance-style because of the excitement of an honest-to-goodness new place to annoy diners. She danced a jig and proceeded to run circles around the table.

I was mortified.

After five tense minutes, my aunt ordered Bri to sit down. She did, but squirmed intensely as a sign of defiance.

The waitress sulked over, knowing fully what to expect.

My aunt and I placed our orders. When it came time for Bri to order a dish that mercifully would keep her silent for the few moments she engorged herself with food, she stared off into space.

Mommy prodded Bri for her request: "What does Mommy's little baby want to eat?"

Bri crossed her arms and shook her head. At that point, my mother would have said, "Fine, don't eat. You're only spiting yourself."

Not my aunt. She continued to press Bri for her culinary desire, but the brat was prepared for a showdown. I couldn't stand another second of this bullshit, and I inquired as to what the princess normally eats.

What about pasta, I asked.

"Brianna doesn't like pasta," she said.

Salad?

"Brianna doesn't like that, either."

What the fuck does Brianna like?

"Oh, that changes from day to day, but she mainly likes junk food, but whatever she wants, we make," she replied.

When I was but a misanthropic tyke, I went to bed hungry if I didn't like what my mother put on the table. She didn't make a special meal for me. I guess that's why I'm bitter: she never made a bowl of rice to counter the couscous.

Her Royal Highness Brianna finally settled on a plate of fries. Big, greasy steak fries slathered in mayonnaise. Now I understand why parents throw Hot Pockets and Red Baron pizza at their kids: to get them to stop their yammering. Who cares if they're fat as long as they shut the fuck up?

Once Bri started shoving fries in her mouth, I questioned my aunt about her decision to perpetuate our family's genes.

Her husband pressed her for another child. A son this time. His desire for a male heir was so strong, my aunt refused to have an ultrasound for fear of discovering yet another parasitic relationship would end in the emergence of a child of the bitchier persuasion.

Secretly, my aunt wants another daughter. I don't blame her. There aren't enough slutty, dim-witted women in our family.

Taylor Jade. That's what she wants to name her daughter. (The son, of course, will be named after his father.)

What a wonderful name, I exclaimed, for a future professional cocksucker! If you want your daughter to augment her breasts and slurp semen in lieu of water, stick with that name. It's tops.

Horrified, my aunt rose from the table, grabbed her life's mistake, and stormed out of the restaurant.

I don't think I'll be hearing from her again, which was my plan. I was pissed about being stuck with the bill, but if I received one more pregnancy update through e-mail, complete with scanned photos of her expanding belly, I might have been tempted to shoot up a Mommy and Me playdate. I got off cheap.

When I returned home, I did my daily online newspaper crawl, and I discovered two cautionary tales for my aunt -- not to mention all of the other parents catering to their children's every whim and who think nothing is too good for their children.

I can't reiterate this enough: It is not the media that is turning America's precious white children into criminals. The true culprit is ineffectual parenting, coupled with a sterile, soulless environment.

Today's parents have the quixotic notion that they're going to rear special, brilliant children with high self-esteem and no sense ofrejection. In reality, the kids are stupid because Mom and Dad yell at school administrators rather than encourage M'staké to do her homework, but man, they all feel really, really good about it. So good, everyone gets a trophy and gold star at the end of the day.

One town that feels good about itself is New Hope, Pennsylvania.

New Hope is a quaint town that attracts middle-aged couples, gay bikers, punks, and the occasional teen girl twittering at the implications of the kitsch store Love Saves the Day's name.

Near New Hope is Solebury. The median income in Solebury approaches $71,000. That translates to privileged, neglected, bored white teens looking for a good time at someone else's expense because they don't understand personal responsibility.

Forty-four teens and adults from New Hope, Solebury, and surrounding upper-middle-class enclaves have been charged in connection with a beer and coke party that left a nearly-finished luxury home in ruins.

The damage amounted to $130,000, which is $15,000 more than what my parents' house would go for on the market. The monetary cost of the damage is equivalent to a tornado levelling my house and totalling my parents' cars.

According to police, plumbing was ripped out, windows were broken, and holes were punched in walls. When police arrived, according to the probable charge affidavit, the home reeked of stale beer, beer bottles were scattered around the house, tobacco juice covered walls and floors, and cigarette butts littered toilets and sinks.

According to The (Philadelphia) Inquirer, "In interviews with police, many of the young people at first denied any involvement. But according to the probable-cause affidavit, they eventually recounted an evening of wanton destruction and named names. There were vivid accounts of smashing beer bottles against freshly painted walls, smashing picture windows, kicking holes into walls, ripping out bathroom and kitchen fixtures, all amid flowing beer and lines of cocaine."

The (Philadelphia) Daily News elaborated, "The interior of the double-door refrigerator was puddled with urine. One estimate was that about 75 percent of the walls were somehow damaged. . . . The stovetop ventilation hood was broken. The granite counter tops were scratched. The glass from the broken beer bottles scraped the hardwood floors. Some of the glass is still embedded in the family room fireplace."

The party had been planned for more than a week, according to The Daily News and was advertised as a "bottomless beer party." A 5-dollar admission was all that separated these misunderstood angels from a 5-hour destruction orgy.

Despite the magnitude of the damage, The Daily News reported that none of the partygoers -- even those not directly involved in the display of rich kid angst -- or their parents contacted police. It wasn't until the next morning, when the painters arrived, that police were aware of what happened.

"A lot of these kids are intelligent," said Solebury Police Officer Dan Boyle in an interview with The Daily News. "They come from well-to-do families. . . . These people made a big mistake."

A mistake that would be a one-way ticket to juvenile hall for someone of my economic background or for a person with too much pigmentation.

Keeping up appearances, a neighbor threw a party for the couple whose home was destroyed. The neighbors, said Mary Ellen Blady, "wanted to reassure them that we're not all vandals . . .We care about our neighbors."

Of course, they didn't care too much. The homeowner said he heard nothing from the vandals' parents. "It sort of makes you disappointed. . . Not even an anonymouse note," the former business owner said in an interview with The Daily News.

Joanne L., whose son, Victor L., 19, was charged with defiant trespass, said in an Inquirer interview that her son was a freshman at Villanova University, where he has a $100,000 Navy ROTC scholarship and is an A student.

While Joanne L. said there was no indication that her son would lose the scholarship because of the incident, she said: "You get scared. . . . I don't know what it means to have this citation."

It means you didn't do your job.

By the age of 19, one knows that attending a booze-laden party in an unfinished house is wrong. If one doesn't, someone along the way failed. You gave material goods to your son, perhaps thinking it would lead to a better life than your own, but you didn't teach him responsibility. Hell, you probably paid for elaborate posters for your son's senior class president campaign. But you never told him that he isn't the center of the universe and he can't do whatever he wants.

Victor L. was one of thirty partygoers charged with trespassing. Eleven others were accused of committing the vandalism and face charges of criminal mischief and defiant trespass.

According to the Inquirer, Jason Alan Sergo, 20, Jan Thomas Mannik, 20, and Richard David Nanni, 20, were charged with seven crimes including criminal trespass, which upon conviction could carry a sentence of 3 1/2 to 7 years in prison. The three are considered the ringleaders of the party.

In an interview with the Inquirer, Jan Stultz, 16, a junior at New Hope-Solebury High School, said that the arrests had been the talk of the school and that the consensus was that the possible jail sentences were probably too harsh. Taking their credit cards away for a week would, of course, be appropriate punishment.

So, I e-mailed this information to my aunt. "My Brianna would never do that!" was the reponse.

Huh, I thought, Brianna has all of the makings of a teenaged hoodlum. She has a trendy name. She rules the roost. She's praised no matter what she does. She gets what she wants. I don't see anything standing in the way of a future slap on the wrist in family court.

If that didn't convince her, though, I thought the following story would. It seemed more realistic.

Jane Doe's mother had high hopes for her. "She could discover the cure for cancer when she gets older! Until then, she'll be the shining star that guides me through life. What a little darling!"

When Jane Doe turned 11, she claimed a man tried to abduct her in front of a Virgin Megastore. According to the girl, she was attacked by a 60-year-old man with gray hair. He tried to pull her into his shiny-new VW Beetle.

Jane's mother was horrified. Who would attack her precious dear, her reason for living? The police treated it as a serious attack. Who would want to harm an innocent child?

The police asked for help from the public. They followed all leads. They reviewed security tapes. They used sufficient manpower to solve this crime.

One week later, Jane recanted her story. No one tried to kidnap her. Jane didn't feel "special." Even though public schools are doing their best to indoctrinate upcoming generations with the idea that they have a right to warm fuzzies, poor Jane didn't feel special enough.

Jane's mother had the audacity to discipline Jane for not cleaning her room. Disciplining a child is bad enough, but for something as minute as not tidying up her personal living space? No wonder Jane had to fabricate a tale of kidnapping that wasted valuable time police could have spent on real cases.

Thankfully, though, Jane will not be charged with a crime, and her mother reports she's going to take Jane out for a sundae at Friendly's to allow her to regain the feeling of specialness.

I recounted this story to my aunt, but she hasn't responded. I guess she was busy maxing out her credit cards at Limited Too.

Providing jack-off material for white misogynists since 1997.

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