The Breakfast of Champions: Beer, Brawling, and Babysitting
Sunday mornings. So peaceful, so calm. A time for church, pancakes, and… domestic disturbances? Oh, I see, we’ve veered off into the delightful territory of dysfunction thanks to one brave soul on Brune Drive.
7:13 AM, the sun had barely rubbed the sleep from its eyes and the morning dew was just starting to form when our digital saviour, the police scanner, squawked an all too familiar tune. Disorderly conduct, residential locale, liquid courage involved.
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The scene of the crime, you ask? The fondly referred to ‘family home’, populated not just by adults teetering on emotional breakdowns, but innocent, cereal-chomping children as well. Our caller, bravely stepping into the ring, is the paternal fool’s ever-so-tolerant offspring.
Our soused father figure, it seems, had decided to chase down his morning OJ with some of Ma Nature’s grain nectar and was brandishing the gift of gab – loudly, and without regard for his sleeping audience. Fisticuffs? Thankfully, no. It seems the only punching happening was the relentless assault on family values.
The men in blue arrived to find a war zone, but of words, not weapons. Their solution? A stern ‘naughty naughty’ finger wave and a command to trudge upstairs, presumably to sleep off the morning’s entertainment.
He acquiesced, I imagene begrudgingly, to his temporary exile, and all was quiet on Brune Drive… for now.
Unresolved domestic drama and hungover fathers, Brune Drive was brought to you today by the letters ‘W’, ‘T’, and ‘F’. Don’t drink and parent kids, it’s a shitshow.
Proudly reporting from the comfort of a sane, booze-free home: your ever-ghoulish narrator, Spill by Bill.
Written By:
William Thomas
This isn’t rage—it’s truth with the volume turned up.
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