👽🐧No.72876

When I was little, I was playing at the park when this kid started filling up a water gun and spraying me with it. The spot I was stuck in made it hard to dodge, so I basically just had to stand there and take it while he laughed his head off. I got so mad I started crying.

Turns out, the older girl from my neighborhood saw the whole thing and took a picture of me crying, then posted it in the neighborhood group chat, calling the boy spoiled and badly raised.

The next day, I was inside eating watermelon when my dad came over looking completely confused and told me the smart doorbell showed a couple asking for me. I opened the door and realized it was the boy’s parents from yesterday. They were absurdly polite and apologetic, and they actually brought me back to the park.

When we got there, I saw their son completely tied to the monkey bars with yellow tape, the kind of setup where his feet weren’t even touching the ground. Next to him was a lineup of five or six different water guns in all kinds of sizes and models. His parents told me to pick whichever one I wanted and spray their son back as much as I liked — “minimum thirty minutes, and if you’re not satisfied we can extend the session.”