What am I? A Republican?

I am pissed.

Just back from a trip to the local grocery store, where I was behind a woman in the checkout lane. This woman had a "baby" (he was easily over the age of one) in an INFANT carrier, a 4 or 5 year old hanging off the back of the cart, and a 6 or so year old pulling on her skirt. She was also visibly pregnant and about ready to pop.

A quick glance at her goods on the belt showed me she was purchasing Froot Loops, Nathan's hot dogs, milk, eggs, Aunt Jemima syrup, Eggo waffles, a Spider man birthday cake from the bakery and 4 12 packs of Coke.

When the cashier told her the total, and she pulled out her Gubmint issued debit card, I was slightly annoyed. When the cashier told her that her balance was $15 something (since the state obviously doesn't pay for custom engraved birfday cakes), and the woman reached her long ass nails complete with sparkles into her knock off Louis Vuitton and pulled out a WAD of cash, I was even more annoyed. When she told the cashier she also needed 2 cartons of Newport's, I almost swallowed my tongue.

WHAT THE EXCUSE MY FRENCH FUCK IS THIS????

My cart contained my two children, store brand loot froops, ball park franks. store brand syrup and Toca Cola and I work!

Well, Ok, I don't WORK per se, but Joey does, quite hard I might add.

So, there were my mighty tax dollars hard at work.

Her nails were done, her hair was done, she was wearing jewelry, had a Motorola Razr clipped to her belt and had an iPod clipped to the outside of her bag.

When I got out to my car and saw her loading her goods into the trunk of her I KID YOU NOT FOLKS, Cadillac, I lost it.

Once I was safely inside my car, doors locked and driving away, I rolled down my window, and yelled to her- If you're gonna breed 'em, feed 'em!

I looked and sounded like a bitch, but I'm a sissy. She was a bigger bitch. She coulda taken me out in a second.

Get a job, people. And stop reproducing. For real.

There are only a few ways to wealth in this country- work, fame, or inheritance.

We all wish we had a rich Uncle out there who would die and leave his millions, but most of us do not.

Fame is fleeting and only happens to a select few, so let's count that out of the equation.

What's left? Work. Either do it, or marry someone who does and stop asking ME to take care of YOU and your offspring.

In an ironic twist of fate, I DO have a rich Uncle. He is only 11 years older than me and married with two children of his own to leave his millions to.

Guess I better get famous real soon, because I sure hate working.