to: jackass in charge of decision-making
cc: common sense (apparantly on vacation)
re: escapades in the front yard
'tis all well and good that you want to play with the nieces on a nice day while the fam is collected at mom and dad's house. it's great that you took the opportunity to get off your duff and do something at least a little bit energetic (you do remember that your new daily exercise starts tomorrow, right, fat ass?), and yes, it is fun to show up your sister who has never been able to do a cartwheel and make your father cringe when your back bends in those unnatural fashions that god never intended for kate to teach you. but here are the issues at hand:
1) already injured wrist
2) hard ground + uneven surface PLUS FUCKING 8-HOLE DOC MARTEN BOOTS = just asking for it
next time you decide to show off in the front yard, dear jackass, make sure you have proper footwear and are not already sporting an injury. you might have gotten away with a cartwheel or two, but you had to do it on one hand just to show off, and you had to do walkovers just for fun. so good luck opening that tylenol bottle tonight, bitch, because your right hand just isn't going to help.
and you might have gotten away with nice soft landings, but you had to try to show the kids what a roundoff was, and hard ground gives no rebound, especially to feet in boots. so good luck walking through the apartment to get a glass of water once you do get the tylenol open, because you're going to forget and put your foot down flat and send the cats out the window when you shout. you *have* broken toes doing stupid things in shoes you totally shouldn't have been doing them in (remember that ten-foot fence you jumped in callie's backyard, wearing sandals?), and you appear to have done it again.
from this point on, we are on strike. we refuse to participate in any of your stupid, ill-advised, poorly-planned endeavours until you grow a fucking brain and start acting like a twenty-seven year old. if you think we're going to be of much use to you in the next four weeks while you try to get those little beasts you call gymnasts to vault properly for competition, you are sadly mistaken. you ain't spottin' nothin', bitch.
love, your much-abused and seriously sore body parts