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Bro Strider: Be the good parent.
Dave.

God, that kid was a fucking shitstain sometimes, and occasionally the name even being so much as mentioned made you crumple up the daily newspaper in utter frustration. Sometimes you even regret training the kid to be the amazing fucking warrior he will be. SOMETIMES, there were days when you didn't feel the urge to leap to the rooftop and engage in glorious strife with that motherfucker. Of course, you were always one to spoil the kid with your very presence, and those times when you locked yourself in your room, he'd persist and find his very way in. Brat.

Like any normal kid, he had to go to school- as much as you didn't care to admit it, to become as ironically cool as you, he had to be smart about his business, which meant getting an education. Dave fucking hated school, though; and as a result to get away from this problem, he'd got himself expelled from most of the schools. So when you were offered the chance for the tyke to have one-on-one classes? Fuck yes. That was an absolute goddamn godsend for you. It all seemed to be better for him, too, to not need to be surrounded by annoying screeching little shits, although admittedly, it was probably him most of the time, proven by the many phone calls had involving little Dave screaming obscenities at the top of his little goddamn lungs.

Today was one of those days where Dave felt the need to be a royal pain in the ass in his mere ten years of age, made ever worse by his newfound love for Spiderman. Y'know, that red and blue spandex-clad dude who swings around like a total loser of whom you get the impression sticks his meat in other guy's asses? Yeah, him. Then that brings you to now. You really didn't fucking feel like strifing today-well, you did, but your thumping migraine told you otherwise. C'mon, Bro. It's the weekend, you're allowed to have fun, right? Apparently not. Everything was terrible, and it all fucking hurt. Guh. You needed more water, as well. Hangover cure my fucking ass.

So up you stood, kicking away a stray smuppet, followed by a, "Sorry little guy, I kinda need you outta the way for now"-Then silently swearing to make it up to the smuppet. He was one of your favourites, you'd even gone so far as to call him 'Freddie' so kicking the poor thing was the ultimate insult to both of you. After proceeding to struggle through the utter tip of your room, lifting the sword-shaped latch which kept the door locked, and stepping out the door, you were greeted by a miserable sight.

"Dave, what the fuck are you doing." That was all you could really say, upon seeing the young Strider hanging ironically down from the ceiling. Look at his goddamn face, god he's so fucking smug. This was when your natural parental instinct kicked in. All you wanted was some fucking water and the kid was blocking the way.

"Dave you shitstain. Get down or no fucking computer for a month."

Unfortunately, the kid had become pretty good at telling when Bro was lying, even with his eyes utterly concealed by his impossible shades.

"No fuck you Bro, I'm Spiderman".

Shit, you knew you shouldn't have got the kid the internet at his age, but you fucking needed it too and he kept begging with his fucking babyish and not-at-all-cool puppy dog eyes-you swear to god those people are giving the impressionable little fucker the craziest ideas. Fuck it, you're coming through and you don't even give a single damn. Little guy needs to learn these things, y'know. You grit your teeth and breathe through your nose, this being one of the times you hope he didn't have a sword behind him or something dumb and cheap like that. So he strode with all the swag that a goddamn Strider had. Of course, not allowing Dave to have the last laugh, Bro Strider feeling like a teenager all over again firmly said to the kid now behind him,

"Not cool, little man. Not fucking cool."

He could feel Dave's fucking eyes glaring daggers into the back of his head, even while covered by that shitty costume you bought him. Bro Strider, who really didn't feel like doing anything today, did what any good and decent parent would.

"Dave. I'm gettin' some fucking water. Meet me on the roof in ten minutes. Bring Cal. And a sword."

He was going to take him down a notch.

Description
Bro Strider: Be the good parent.
Dave.

God, that kid was a fucking shitstain sometimes, and occasionally the name even being so much as mentioned made you crumple up the daily newspaper in utter frustration. Sometimes you even regret training the kid to be the amazing fucking warrior he will be. SOMETIMES, there were days when you didn't feel the urge to leap to the rooftop and engage in glorious strife with that motherfucker. Of course, you were always one to spoil the kid with your very presence, and those times when you locked yourself in your room, he'd persist and find his very way in. Brat.

Like any normal kid, he had to go to school- as much as you didn't care to admit it, to become as ironically cool as you, he had to be smart about his business, which meant getting an education. Dave fucking hated school, though; and as a result to get away from this problem, he'd got himself expelled from most of the schools. So when you were offered the chance for the tyke to have one-on-one classes? Fuck yes. That was an absolute goddamn godsend for you. It all seemed to be better for him, too, to not need to be surrounded by annoying screeching little shits, although admittedly, it was probably him most of the time, proven by the many phone calls had involving little Dave screaming obscenities at the top of his little goddamn lungs.

Today was one of those days where Dave felt the need to be a royal pain in the ass in his mere ten years of age, made ever worse by his newfound love for Spiderman. Y'know, that red and blue spandex-clad dude who swings around like a total loser of whom you get the impression sticks his meat in other guy's asses? Yeah, him. Then that brings you to now. You really didn't fucking feel like strifing today-well, you did, but your thumping migraine told you otherwise. C'mon, Bro. It's the weekend, you're allowed to have fun, right? Apparently not. Everything was terrible, and it all fucking hurt. Guh. You needed more water, as well. Hangover cure my fucking ass.

So up you stood, kicking away a stray smuppet, followed by a, "Sorry little guy, I kinda need you outta the way for now"-Then silently swearing to make it up to the smuppet. He was one of your favourites, you'd even gone so far as to call him 'Freddie' so kicking the poor thing was the ultimate insult to both of you. After proceeding to struggle through the utter tip of your room, lifting the sword-shaped latch which kept the door locked, and stepping out the door, you were greeted by a miserable sight.

"Dave, what the fuck are you doing." That was all you could really say, upon seeing the young Strider hanging ironically down from the ceiling. Look at his goddamn face, god he's so fucking smug. This was when your natural parental instinct kicked in. All you wanted was some fucking water and the kid was blocking the way.

"Dave you shitstain. Get down or no fucking computer for a month."

Unfortunately, the kid had become pretty good at telling when Bro was lying, even with his eyes utterly concealed by his impossible shades.

"No fuck you Bro, I'm Spiderman".

Shit, you knew you shouldn't have got the kid the internet at his age, but you fucking needed it too and he kept begging with his fucking babyish and not-at-all-cool puppy dog eyes-you swear to god those people are giving the impressionable little fucker the craziest ideas. Fuck it, you're coming through and you don't even give a single damn. Little guy needs to learn these things, y'know. You grit your teeth and breathe through your nose, this being one of the times you hope he didn't have a sword behind him or something dumb and cheap like that. So he strode with all the swag that a goddamn Strider had. Of course, not allowing Dave to have the last laugh, Bro Strider feeling like a teenager all over again firmly said to the kid now behind him,

"Not cool, little man. Not fucking cool."

He could feel Dave's fucking eyes glaring daggers into the back of his head, even while covered by that shitty costume you bought him. Bro Strider, who really didn't feel like doing anything today, did what any good and decent parent would.

"Dave. I'm gettin' some fucking water. Meet me on the roof in ten minutes. Bring Cal. And a sword."

He was going to take him down a notch.