Somewhere in the U.S. tonight there's an eight year-old kid named Austin. He's sitting in his bedroom, holding his Nintendo DS and laughing his ass off at me.
This is just a guess. For all I know Austin could be another gadget obsessed, 41 year-old geek wasting valuable moments of his life repeatedly killing strangers via Metroid and a WiFi link. To be honest I would prefer this scenario to some little eight year-old mother f$^%@r blasting me over and over and over again.
HE'S KILLED ME 15 GODDAMN TIMES! This little freak has the hand-eye coordination of a flippin' Olympic ping-pong gold medalist. Where ever he is I'm sure he'll be tracked down, recruited and ultimately dissected by the Pentagon.
Serves him right. If he was standing in front of me I would kick his little ass. I don't care if he's eight. He has a fighting chance. I get winded very easily and he'll probably have plenty of energy despite spending way too much time playing video games.
Who are his parents? I want a word with them. Austin needs some fresh air for crying out loud. I mean get the kid a snowsuit and make him go sledding or something. If he continues down this path and refuses to develop his mind and body he probably won't get laid until well after grad school.
That's not healthy. That's no way to live.
Stop killing me.