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I’m pissed. A coworker of mine just finished telling me this story about a little girl at the YMCA talking on her cell phone in the change room about some boy in the fourth grade who wants to date her. Without even going into any further details, there are already several very aggravating issues to rant about.

Why in the hell does an 8-year-old girl need a cell phone? Does she want to make sure the office can reach her so she doesn’t miss an important staff meeting? Will she lose valuable stock assets if her broker can’t reach her at the push of a button?

The only feasible reason for this youngster to wield such a telecommunications conduit is for her parents to summon her out of the sandbox, and in the house for dinner. To the best of my recollection, in the early ’80s my mother would just yell to me from the kitchen window. Has technology come so far that our mothers no longer require powerful diaphragms (not that kind of diaphragm, you sick bastard, that’s my MOTHER you’re talking about!)?

I understand the benefits of having a cell for emergencies, but in my mind, chatting with your 10-year-old boyfriend does not qualify.

Which brings me to rant numero deux. YOU ARE 8! YOU DO NOT NEED TO BE IN A RELATIONSHIP! To any 8-year-old reading this right now (unlikely as that is), please read carefully: You are a moron. As are all of your little friends. If you are thinking about anything other than pony figurines or Easy-Bake Ovens then you are on the wrong track and are doomed to spend the rest of your pathetic life mourning your lost childhood. Go grab a handful of Play-Doh and shove it in those all-too-impressionable earholes before MTV leads you to believe that you are a future member of Three 6 Mafia. You do NOT have to stay “fly till you die,” and the way to acquire said flyness is NOT by dating every pimp and/or ho in the fourth grade.

Go back to your upper-middle class family and play some damn charades or something. I don’t really give a shit. Just don’t let me see you walking down the street with your homies in your matching FUBU jackets that drag behind you like the train on a wedding dress. And you young ladies, don’t go chasing after these goons thinking you’re the Beyonce to their Jay-f****n’-Z.

Music has far too great an influence on the behavior of our tiny seedlings and it’s only getting worse. When I was their age, Brian Adams was the coolest cat around. He’d just released “Everything I Do (I Do It For You)” which led to the inevitable question amongst preteen daters: “Would my 9-year-old boyfriend die for me?” One couple I knew actually terminated their star-crossed romance when the young boy selfishly stated that he would not die for his “prepubescent puddin’ pop.” Sitting closer to the back of the classroom, I was able to judge from afar and wonder, shouldn’t we be worried about whether there’ll be room on the jungle gym at recess rather than dying for each other?

I shudder to think of the questions I’d hear as a fly on the wall of today’s third-grade classrooms. I imagine “would you bust a cap in that bitch-ass-cracker for me?” would be on the lips of most 7-year-old white girls.

I really have no conclusion here. Well, maybe this…I hate you little pukes. When you turn 18 I’m gonna kick you in the f****n’ junk.

With sincere love and admiration,

Lt. Mookman