Ahhhh yes – Park Slope, Brooklyn. The place where smug, identical, inbred-looking, upper class yups come from around the country to breed and impress each other while skipping around the “nabe” with bags of expensive groceries and microbrews. Also, Park Slope is the place where many North Brooklyn hipsters graduate to after transplanting from fly-over state suburban settings to Williamsburg, Greenpoint and Bushwick a long, long, long 7 years ago to teach us pre-historic and uncultured New Yorkers what music, coffee, alcohol, art and food is.
Not an April Fools joke – the NY Post reports today that a number of Park Slope parents are joining forces to prevent ice cream and icee vendors – a Brooklyn staple – from selling their products in Prospect Park; making statements like:
“I should not have to fight with my children every warm day on the playground just so someone can make a living!”
Of course not yup cunt! The world should revolve around you, your little brats Palmer, Linus, Matilda and your nasally thick eyeglass framed beardo husband Ethan, right??? Didn’t you know there were non-Waspy white people and non-white people that make a few bucks in the street when you were fascinated by Brooklyn via reading the Brownstoner blog and other various message boards when you were planning your move from Michigan? Didn’t you read the complaints your species was already making on those boards about the icky natives that are an obstruction to your homogenized lives around here? Oh you poor thing – having to argue and teach your children things? The horror!
These extremely irritating Park Slope parents are horrible parents. If not being raised by a nanny, their infants and toddlers are confined to their Strollersaurus Rex, or some snot and Cheerios play center or sitting and screaming in a some smug bar so Mommy or Daddy can get their drink on and discuss the happenings in “their” new community. By the time the kids are around 4 or 5 and are unleashed on society, like a park, they have no idea how to control themselves. They will not take no for an answer. Instead of teaching their kids, basically from the time they are able to walk and get their hands into things – that you can’t always get what you want or you have to earn rewards, the kid ends up feeling entitled. This sense of entitlement lasts until about 40 when they are still asking their parents for “ice cream”, a metaphor for rent at this point.
I guarantee you, if some pasty, emaciated lumberjackish beardo walked through the playground with a cart that said “Colby’s Organic Seaweed Smoothies” on the side or “Holly’s Frozen Breastmilk Parfaits” these Park Slope parents would be doing cartwheels with cash in hand.