FUCK YOU, MR WHIPPY

A few minutes ago I went out the front of our place to have a smoke. I stood watching, unseen, as three unsupervised children probably aged three to seven played on their scooters on the footpath across the street. No worries, it’s a quiet neighbourhood so the kids are unlikely to come to grief and they’re are at least wearing helmets, no matter how ill-fitting.

The playing children took note of an approaching mobile ice cream vendor – a Mr Whippy van, if you will – the youngest of the three, a male no more than four, erecting a finger and repeatedly shouting “fuck you” as the van passed by. After the van rounded the corner the tyke leaned off to the side of his scooter and spat derisively onto the footpath.

Imagine being a teacher tasked with educating that little prick; Australia’s future is bleak indeed.

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