Cutting Edge – Cotton Wool Kids


Cotton Wool Kid

Last night’s Cotton Wool Kids illustrated, with sickening clarity, modern parents’ obsession with keeping thier children safe from alleged ‘harm’. In the space of one generation, we have gone from allowing little people the freedom to explore and learn about the world on their own terms (something parents have successfully let their offspring do for, oh, three hundred and fifty thousand years), to locking them away and keeping them safe from the supposed dangers of the outside world.

Whereas you or I took it as read that we could come and go as we please from a very early age, a lot of children today are kept prisoner in case a paedophile gets them, or they’re run over, or they hurt themselves, or a million and one other supposed threats. That this is palpably nonsense holds no sway with a lot of today’s parents and it certainly held no sway with the parents in the film.

For instance, there was the father so paranoid that his little girl might come to harm that he spent his life pointing out to her how dangerous everything in her environment was. She, being about six, had a young and malleable mind and took in this man’s preposterous nonsense as if it was gospel truth.

“What did Humpty Dumpty do?” he asked her at one point.

“He fell off the wall and hurt himself,” she replied.

“And that’s why you shouldn’t sit on walls, isn’t it daddy? You might hurt yourself.”

“That’s right,” this creature replied, “you shouldn’t sit on walls. Good girl.”

The same girl was later seen walking round her back garden pointing at various bits and bobs and then pointing out the many and various ways they could hurt her. As a result, she was brainwashed into thinking everything in the world was dangerous. Nice work there, pops.

Then there was the disgusting ‘mother’ who taught her children that the world wasn’t a safe place to be because it was full of monsters. Wandering through a supermarket car park, she explained to her children that any of the people around her could be potential child-molesters. Pointing at a security guard, the children wondered if he could be a child molester.

“He could be,” this irresponsible harridan replied.

So that teaches her kids to interract correctly with adults (run away, they’re all kiddie fiddlers) and respect authority (don’t listen to them, run away, they’re probably paedos), then.

Or how’s about the Egyptian dad who wouldn’t allow his fat son (fat because he spends his entire life locked away inside) to catch the bus with his school friends in case he was snatched by a slobbering paedophile? This boy wasn’t three, he was thirteen. I’ll say that again – thirteen! This poor, sheltered, obese boy was driven everywhere by his father, never allowed to leave the house on his own. Thanks to galloping paranoia, the poor little sod spent his entire summer holiday indoors. Can you imagine that? Six weeks that should be filled with bike rides, flowering teenage crushes, lazy days by the river, and potential train-derailment attempts in the company of your contemporaries, instead taken up with enforced imprisonment with only a Nintendo Wii for company? Christ, I’d have murdered my parents if they’d thought they had the right to do that to me.

What came across strongest in Cotton Wool Kids was just how deperately lonely and afraid these children had been brought up to be. They were haunted, unsure, weird, un-kids – their lives of confinement leaving them socially incapable and just as paranoid and scared as their idiot parents. One little girl, when asked if she’d like to be let out on her own, was wide-eyed at the prospect,

“What? Outside? On my own? Like I was FREE?”

It was desperately, desperately sad.

I’ve ranted about the child as prisoner concept on my own blog before, so nothing surprised me about Cotton Wool Kids. I wasn’t surprised when a child said she ‘played tennis with her friends’, and she then went on to explain it was Wii Tennis. I wasn’t surprised that the parents used the excuse that ‘things are different these days’, when facts point out that they are exactly the same as they were in 1988. I wasn’t surprised when the father of the fat thirteen year old wouldn’t allow his son to go away for five days to another house with equally paranoid parents ‘in case something happened to him’. I wasn’t surprised by this, I was just saddened for the children, and enraged by the behaviour of the parents.

If you get the chance to watch a repeat of this show, then don’t be surprised if you spend an hour hurling abuse at the TV. if you watch it, and you’ve got a cotton wool kid of your own, and you don’t immediately throw them out and tell them not to come back until they’re covered from head-to-toe in mud, then shame on you, you’re destroying their childhood.

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103 Responses to “Cutting Edge – Cotton Wool Kids”

  1. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Over to you, Clarry …

  2. Swineshead Says:

    Come on Clarry – let’s hear it!

  3. Clarry Says:

    Thanks man…

    Aw shucks, i’ve gone all shy now.

  4. Clarry Says:

    Plus you know when there was talk of bullying cunts the other day…. LEAF ME ALONE!

  5. george Says:

    How you we know that you’re not just a pedo trying to lure kids outdoors so you canhave your way with them?

  6. Swineshead Says:

    I didn’t see this show but, in other news, I sampled Tescos chicken kievs the other day. £1.90 something and they were bloody lovely. 2 for less than two quid – and the garlic butter was cheesy.

    They were better than anything Piqued’s ever cooked in his life.

  7. Clarry Says:

    I promise i’m not, here have some sweeties….

  8. Clarry Says:

    Were they made of ‘evil’ chicken or ‘good’ chicken?

  9. Swineshead Says:

    I share George’s concerns. How you we know that you’re not just a pedo trying to lure kids outdoors so you canhave your way with them?

  10. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    That’s got to rouse him from his drunken slumber. He claims to drink fancy wine ‘n’ that, but in reality I think the Piqued key would go something like this:

    Cava – Lighter Fluid
    Beaujolais – Battery Acid
    Claret – Antifreeze
    Champagne – All of the above mixed together with petrol in a used condom and served with a straw.


  11. Swineshead Says:

    Clarry – there is no such thing. Chickens have no concept of good or evil. It’s all they can do to work out which end to shit out of.

  12. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    She might be asking which end.

  13. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    The omission of an article allows it to be so. THE GRAMMAR BOD HAS SPOKEN.

  14. Swineshead Says:


  15. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    George – How do ye know that I’m not just a pedo trying to lure kids outdoors so I canhave my way with them? Why, by not thinking everybody in the world is a paedophile, old son. Try letting your kids (if they haven’t already been forcefully removed by Social Services) out on their own. If they come back unmolested (which they will), then you can be assured that no one was out there having their way with them. By doing so, your kids can also have a proper childhood, not a prison sentence. That’s how it used to be, see?

    And how do you know, George, that you’re not going to go out and be murdered by a psycho killer? Wouldn’t it be best if you stayed indoors for your own safety – like your kids have to? Or would that be utterly ridiculous, you fucking imbecile?

  16. piqued Says:

    ‘the garlic butter was cheesy’

    Garlic and butter doesn’t have any cheese, rancid butter and fuck garlic could taste suitably offish to have a tincture of cheese-taste…

    Also, I thought you’d stopped buying that sort of ‘chicken’?



  17. piqued Says:

    …Oh George

    You have to have some basic grasp of English to post on here you fucking bellpress

  18. Swineshead Says:

    Says Piqued, refusing steadfastly to use any punctuation himself.

    I was hungry and it winked at me through a hangover, Mr Mechanically Reclaimed Kebab-Meat Hypocrite.

  19. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    ‘Fuck garlic’? Can you get that in TESCO’s?

  20. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    I assume you’ve given up battery-farmed chickens, have you? I tried that after a tour of my uncle’s monstrous farm. My resolve lasted until I ate a Chicken Madras on medical grounds.

    Sod those chickens.

  21. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    Eat them, death was their release. And what a tasty release.

  22. Sharon Says:

    I thought it was very interesting, Swineshead. I’ve only just come across your blog via Andrew Collins’ blog. I was surprised that MORE of the children were not podgy, like the thirteen year old boy and that his parents were unable to see that their imprisonment of their son was exactly what was CAUSING the poor mite to become obese !!!!

    The other rather sad and poignant thing about the film was how many of the kids were affected by the disappearance of Madeleine McCann …. obviously such a big news story in the past year has fuelled the fire of their parents’ concern AND made the children feel as if their parents’ worries are justified.

    Leaving 3 children under the age of 5 to sleep alone while you dine elsewhere without a babysitter is not justified (*) …. but letting children out to play in the garden / street with other children (and parents not too far away, able to keep a bit of an eye on them) is (or should be) perfectly normal.

    (*) How shocking, I’ve said something anti Mr & Mrs McCann, but I’m hardly the first person and by law children under 14 should be accompanied at night by an adult guardian, so the McCanns must have known they were taking a risk.

    What is slightly disturbing about the HUGE and disproportionate news coverage of the Madeleine McCann disappearance is that many young children will think these disappearances happen regularly and happen in ANY circumstances, which is not the case.

    The circumstances of 3 young children “abandoned” at night, with no babysitter does, however, make abduction much more likely …. but I expect the children being imprisoned by their over-protective parents are not aware of the full facts, nor what the actually *likelihood* of abduction is, compared with being run over by a bus, or being hit by lightening.

  23. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    Plus the McCanns put their kid in a blender and flushed her down the loo, that’s pretty disturbing. I said they dun it the day she disappeared. AND I WAS BLOODY RIGHT TOO.

  24. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    (it’s ‘lightning’ by the way)

  25. Clarry Says:

    SH/JQW by saying ‘evil’ or ‘good’ chicken, I was referring to the fact that at less than £2 for two kievs then maybe it was produced in an ‘evil’ fashion unlike Hugh F-W’s organic, liberated or ‘good’ chicken.

  26. piqued Says:

    SH, the kebabs to which you refer are mutton-based, that’s not chicken

    Mutton is hell on earth but tasty in the gut, so it’s fair

    As for my punctuation, I’m reading Cormack at the mo and have taken a leaf or two out of his sublime book

    You’ve let me, Jamie Oliver and Hugh FW down, by the way

  27. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Sharon – I’d take issue with these children being ‘abandoned’. They were in a gated holiday resort, with the parents near by, being regularly checked up on. That one of them was spirited away in the period between checks was a tragedy, yes, but it wasn’t the parents’ fault. The seven people they were dining with didn’t have their unattended children snatched, so this was an unusual and unfortunate occurance, not a forseeable outcome of a parent’s obvious neglect. Shit happens, as they say, and apportioning blame is unfair.

    As for your comment that kids should be allowed to play in the garden/street with parents nearby to keep an eye on them, that’s where the problem lies. Children of my generation were allowed to play outside on their own terms WITHOUT parents keeping an eye on them. It’s the constant watchfulness that prevents children making the mistakes, hurting themselves, discovering new things, exploring the boundaries of their world, etc. that led us to be well-rounded adults. Children of four and above do not need 24 hour supervision.

  28. Swineshead Says:

    Piqued – you’re a fucking moron.

    Sharon – I didn’t write this one – t’was Napoleon. But I own this site. I OWN it. It is mine. All mine.

  29. Clarry Says:

    P.S Surely George wasn’t being serious, was he? He’s probably ringing the police as we speak as I offered him sweeties. If only I contain these urges…

  30. Swineshead Says:

    I was allowed to play hither and thither as a child. The only bad thing that happened to me was Napoleon tried to crush me and my guinea pig in a shed door – TRUE FACT.

  31. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    On the subject of chicken, I wouldn’t care if the unfortunate bird had been shown the rack for the entire twenty eight days of its miserable existence. If it’s then chopped up and shoved in a Bernard Matthews kiev, then fuck its welfare, I’ll eat it anyway.

  32. Swineshead Says:

    Clarry… I try to eat organic organisms where I can, but if I’ve a hangover all ethics go out of the window as I crave cheap flesh. Bit like a pissed Piqued being a complete hypocrite and eating mutton-gristle whilst guffawing with his pals about how working class they’re being.

  33. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    I tried to crush you because:

    a) You were often a precocious, insufferable little turd at that age and deserved to be crushed (that’s also why James smothered you with a cat bogey encrusted towel)
    b) I enjoyed bullying the weak

    And you went running to your mam and got me a period of banishment from your bloody house, you little bastard.

  34. Sharon Says:

    “Sharon – I didn’t write this one – t’was Napoleon. But I own this site. I OWN it. It is mine. All mine.”

    So as I’m new here … how many of the reviews are done by you and how many by other contributors? And how can the reader tell who the review has been written by?

  35. piqued Says:

    I’m a moron am I? Who was it that just ate loads of ‘cheese’ tasting garlic and chicken? Christ, it makes me feel sick thinking about it.

    That was you that was, not I

    *genuinely wins everything*

  36. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    It’s a mystery to me. Did I write this one? I thought it was Piqued?

  37. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Mini Kievs are cheese tasting garlic chicken bites, if this helps.

  38. piqued Says:

    Thank you NC, that does help. Thanks

  39. Clarry Says:

    SH – Glad to see you have a steely resolve even when in drink…

    On the subject of the McCann’s (yawn) don’t you think that they would have been chastised further for ‘abandoning’ the children if they were working class.

  40. Swineshead Says:

    Sharon – on the main page, just under the title of each post, it says the name of he or she what wrote it like.

    As for childhood incidents, don’t worry about it NC, I forgive you – and it all seemed to balance out when you got your nose broken and called up begging me to help get you out of Grantham hospital in the dead of night, despite me being pre-teen and in my jim jams. Oh, how I laughed!

  41. piqued Says:

    How did NC have hurted done on his nose

  42. Swineshead Says:

    No idea. Anyway – back to Cotton Wool Kids. Did it have any boobs in it?

  43. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    How NC hurt his nose …

    By not realising the lady he was grotesquely feeling up in a pub had a gigantic biker boyfriend who frogmarched NC outside and uppercut his nose into his skull. The events of that delightful evening out went:

    1. Drunkenly feel up woman
    2. Frogmarched outside
    3. Nose broken
    4. Wake up in Grantham hospital
    5. Ring only telephone number I could remember

    The second time I broke it was on a woman’s arse, believe it or not.

    No, there were no boobs.

  44. piqued Says:

    Gosh, it’s not very nice being up the north is it

  45. Swineshead Says:

    NC – you just made coffee come out of my nose.
    A memoir might be an idea.

  46. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    If you can call Lincolnshire ‘Up North’. Mind you, we only end up in fights caused by drunken misunderstandings. We don’t stab little boys in the thigh and allow them to bleed to death on fire escapes.

  47. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    I had forgotten my bewildered call to you, as it ‘appens. Aaah, the memories are floodin’ back, so they are! Those were the days

  48. Swineshead Says:

    NC – they also tend to kill gay people, the yellow-bellies. I remember a gay couple kissed in Legends nightclub and one of the two was, for his trouble, beaten to death with rounders bats in the street.

  49. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Oh, they didn’t like gay folk up there, of that there’s no doubt. They hated ’em as much as that guy who set off a nail bomb in a gay pub in London.

    I hadn’t heard of this fella being beaten to death. You could argue that a man kissing another man in a Sleaford nightclub was suicide as opposed to murder though, couldn’t you?

  50. Swineshead Says:

    You could argue that, but you’d be on the most twisted soapbox in the park.

  51. piqued Says:

    That ‘man’ set off a bomb in Brixton too as he didn’t like white and blacks congregating (did I tell you I saw that go off btw?)

  52. Clarry Says:

    I don’t recall this killing either. Although I do recall the gay Sleafordian (his name escapes me) who moved to Manchester and was brutally murdered after picking up a chap (gay-basher) in a club.

  53. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    I’m merely suggesting that, if you stopped to think of the sort of monsters who inhabited that town, their ‘conservative’ views, and their fondness for mindless brutality, you would remember not to go snogging members of the same sex in public place.

    Legends is where my childhood friend, Tom Johnson, was punched in the face by a young buck called Tim Stanion for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I asked Tim why he’d punched Tom, and he replied, ‘Dunno, just did.’ Glory days.

    Were these gay chaps new to the place?

  54. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    So, anyway, cotton wool kids?

  55. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Terrible. Those kids need rescuing.

  56. Swineshead Says:

    I think they were… out-of-towners. Probably misinformed.

    We should do a WWM competition – winner gets two tickets to Sleaford.

  57. Clarry Says:

    I saw Tim Stanion in the street the other day and he’s still wearing the same clothes. Not the EXACT same ones, but very similar.

    Those were the days, huh?

  58. piqued Says:

    Sorry, shall the rest of us not involved in your violent upbringings pop off for a champagne cocktail?

  59. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    I physically intimidated Stanion into funding my beer for an entire night after he foolishly went out for a drink in my local in Lincoln. They never think you might grow up to be bigger than them, do they?

    Piqued – It’s boring, isn’t it? Why not regale us with tales from your own childhood? The time papa took you to look at some of the lower orders toiling in the fields on your estate, perhaps? Or the first time you described your luncheon to dear mama as ‘sensational’?

  60. alison Says:

    I don’t remember anyone ever getting done-in in Sleaford, let alone openly gay people getting done-in. I remember Des shouting at school girls outside Woolies, and a man who waggled his todger at me outside the chippy on Jermyn Street one evening. It was dark though, and I thought it was a battered sausage. I didn’t realise it was his winkie till I got to the Post Office to meet my dad out of work. I told him about it and he laughed.

    No cotton wool in the Clarke household…

  61. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    We know what you mean by ‘champagne cocktail’ you cum-guzzling swine.

  62. Swineshead Says:

    There were plenty of do-ins. Unless you mean deaded do-ins, of which there were few.

    I have to admit, the gay rounders bat story is from a not-entirely-trustworthy source.

    Still – top marks on seeing Des’s penis.

  63. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    The boys did the fightin’, Alison. The girls were either St. George’s slags being ‘done’ up against skips, or frigid High School girls who daddy wouldn’t allow out after dark because fun interfered with their exam results.

  64. Clarry Says:

    Hey, I was a high-schooler. We were rebels I tell you! Skirts rolled up ABOVE THE KNEE and everything…..

  65. alison Says:

    Which would be why I have such an excellent academic record and a pristine virginity. Woop it up!

    SH – it wasn’t Des’s penis, just the penis of some other Sleaford drunk. I don’t think Des was into exposure. He just liked to bellow.

  66. Swineshead Says:

    Ahem… I am Swineshead, Alison.

    I’m editing that…

  67. Clarry Says:

    And of course Sleaford’s three best tramps are all dead now…

    RIP Des, Dennis and Preggy

  68. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Rebels, my fucking arse. Prim, ridiculously shy, and almost impossible to prise the knickers off most of ’em is how I remember High School girls.

    I once booted Des in the nuts when he copped a feel of my (High School) girlfriend’s knockers.

  69. Swineshead Says:

    I only knew Des…

    This has become a strange Sleaford-based thread.

  70. alison Says:

    Soz. Didn’t realise anonymity was required.

    Who the hell was Preggy? Was that the young, ginger cough-syrup drinker?

  71. Clarry Says:

    Having said that ‘grey-frayed-shoe man’ (as mum and I affectionately call him) is still going strong.

  72. piqued Says:

    *walk in wearing a tuxedo and holding a Martini*

    *walks out again*

  73. alison Says:

    Dennis was Des’s best mate. They used to sit outside the Nag’s Head and shout at one another for days at a time.

  74. Clarry Says:

    Yes he was ginger alright and used to beg as ‘a homeless’ althogh he had a house. Although having said that I wouldn’t want to live in his house either as there were several drug-related deaths in it.

  75. Clarry Says:


  76. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    I don’t know this Preggy or Dennis. Des and his dog Tina were the only act in town when I was a boy.

  77. Clarry Says:

    I think, and don’t quote me, but Dennis was living in Des’ shed at one point. Surely this promotes him to super-tramp status – that’s quite an achievement to squat in the shed owned by a tramp.

    They went in quick succession of one another, a bit like when one half of an elderly couple passes away.

  78. Swineshead Says:

    The ginger one -did he play a penny whistle?
    If so – that was Fat Bob Nunn’s cousin. We walked past him once with Fat Bob, quietly made a comment about him and Fat Bob said ‘That’s my cousin, you know’. And it turned out to be true.

    So I know the chap you mean.

    *unwittingly contributes to a thread that will be indecipherable to anyone who didn’t live in Sleaford in the 90s*

  79. alison Says:

    Didn’t live in Sleaford in the 90s?! Well, in that case they didn’t bloody LIVE at all, did they?

    Let’s all guffaw in agreement.

  80. Clarry Says:

    Dennis was actually the father of a boy in my class and was tramping around Sleaford since the early 90s.

    Preggy was a relative new-comer, although he was a common sight on the mean streets of Sleaford since the late 90s. He was a slightly different breed to Des and Dennis, as he could often be spotted wearing a cape, carrying branches and stamping his feet whilst shouting loudly at invisible people.

  81. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Rather touching … until I remember the can of Charger Lager he threw at my head for no reason at all. Cut the back of my bloody head open, the old arsehole. And THEN had the effrontery to ask for his fucking can back, if you please.

    Good riddance!

  82. Clarry Says:

    Although I might point out that this was one of his later phases, being relatively ‘normal’ in the beginning. At the moment there is another young ginger chap who is a Preggy in the making. He’s still training on the old Special Brew, but it won’t be long….

  83. piqued Says:

    *slams door*

  84. Clarry Says:

    About the aforementioned drug-related deaths, do any of you other ex-Sleafords remember Rooster or Sim?

  85. Swineshead Says:

    I remembers Rooster.

  86. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Isn’t it about time we drew a veil over this little wander down memory lane? We’ve already lost Piqued – next time it might be someone important.

  87. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Is it too early to start drinking? I’ve a thirst on me today after the heavy week o’ work I’ve been forced to do.

  88. Swineshead Says:

    It’s Friday – I suggest you go for your life.
    Bit of a weird day today, ain’t it?

  89. Clarry Says:

    Sorry, it’s quite nice to reminisce about the olden days, with people what remember the same stuff as me.

    Roll on the weekend, i’ve had a week (although not all bad today) from hell.

  90. george Says:

    Piqued: Bell press is two words, or possibly two words with a hyphen.

  91. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    It has been a bit odd, yes. All I’ve wanted to do since I got up is get pissed. I’ve not drunk a drop of booze in two weeks, so that could be the reason for this monstrous thirst o’ mine.

  92. george Says:

    Napoleon Cockaparte (if that is your real name): I wasn’t actually suggesting that pedophiles have taken to writing blogs on television programmes in order to influence an increase of the amount of kids on the street to molest. It was a joke. Keep up.

  93. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    Sorry I misunderstood you there, George. When confronted with such literary gold standard questions as …

    “How you we know that you’re not just a pedo trying to lure kids outdoors so you canhave your way with them?”

    … it’s hard for someone of my limited intelligence to work out that you’re pulling my leg. I’ll try harder to ‘keep up’ with your barely-decipherable gobbledygook next time.

    And no, my name’s not Napoleon Cockaparte, surprisingly enough.

  94. Swineshead Says:

    Ah – George was joking.
    Sorry George. Irony radars were off as I don’t think you’ve posted here before.

  95. george Says:

    No need to apologise, I’m a forgiving person. Have you tried attending night classes to combat your lack of intelligence?

  96. george Says:

    Swineshead: No problem, you do get your fair share of weirdos on the internet.

    It’s stuart, from EC. Long time lurker/reader, first time poster.

  97. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    George – I fear I might run into the sort of person whose first post after lurking on the margins of a review site is:

    “How you we know that you’re not just a pedo trying to lure kids outdoors so you canhave your way with them?”

    I don’t think I’d want to be in the same room as the sort of moron who would write something like that, and then submit it for public scrutiny.

  98. george Says:

    That’s undastunduble, peepul fynd our sexual dynamism verey intimidateng.

  99. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    I’m not in the mood for this. I need drink, and lots of it. Cheerio, ladies ‘n’ gentlemen, have a good ‘un (except George).

  100. george Says:

    By Napoleon!!!!!! Xxxx (watch out for pedos)

  101. Gita Says:

    I’m not going to contribute any constructive comments here, but instead implore you all to watch more bloody television.


  102. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    I’ve just been engaged in a long argument with some twat on exactly this issue. More may follow once I’ve simmered down.

  103. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    Oh, and he has a kid. Poor fucker.

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