Please help poor Jimmy get back on his bike again because he’s driving us fucking nuts. He fell off again and refuses to get up this time unless we (his parents, regretfully) buy him an ice cream cone.
With the money, we can buy him whatever the fuck kind of ice cream cone he demands so that he’ll stop kicking and screaming at our public park, but we’re running out of time to accept donations because the ice cream truck leaves in an hour.
Jimmy is only five, yet has somehow established a refined enough palette to refuse all plain ice cream. Sprinkles and oreos will cost $1.00 extra. Plus, he won’t even think about getting off of the fucking ground unless we buy him a jumbo waffle cone, which is a $1.50 upcharge.
We desperately need to get him up because his shriek is so unbearably high that it’s blasting our eardrums and everyone in the park is staring at us. We look like bad parents, which is mortifying because we live in a small town. All of the local parents have witnessed us chase Jimmy down the aisles in the grocery store and have heard him scream at restaurants when we make him eat broccoli before his—you guessed it—ice cream. Place yourself in our shoes—this right here is strike three. We do not want future PTA meetings to be awkward.
Please help us.
If you have it in your heart to spare us anything, it would immensely help in getting Jimmy back on his fucking four-wheel baby bike, and… ah, fuck. Sorry, hold on, he’s running away from us into the mud puddle again.