Your mother expected more of you.
She raised you right, but life
goes rotten on you, and you end up
bagging eggs and canned peas
for old ladies like me.
I know you still gad about with your miscreant friends;
that rowdy, hard-boiled-criminal, frecklefaced readhead,
He's your ringleader,
and you'll do whatever he says to stay 'in'
That's just the typical teenage scramble,
but you remember, you'll be on top someday.
And you'd better remember me too,
'cause, you know, all old ladies have
bloodshot eyes in the back of their heads, like eggshells.
What, you think I don't know who
egged the Hensons' last week?
Or the responsible party
for pegging Emma Brown's car?
Oh, I know.
Like thieves in the night.
Watch what you're doing! You're in
high-school, for Christ's sake, you're smart enough to know
you don't put the eggs and the canned-goods together!
That is called 'not putting all of your groceries
in one basket.' Eheehee.
I would have expected more of you, but I
suppose you're busy these days,
chasing young high-school girls.
But look, you egghead, this is downright neglectful!
Old Mrs. Kushner 'cross the street from me
hasn't had a good egging
in nearly three weeks.
Three weeks! Disgraceful! You're losing your edge!
Here, here's a twenty. Give her the works.