I’m so excited to kick off my new Ask Lola column because I am just brimming with sarcasm and assholery, and what better way to express it than to offer shitty advice to people with real problems?

I received so many awesome problem submissions that it was impossible for me to pick just one, so after posting my top four picks to Facebook and asking readers to vote, this one came in first place. Ready for some sarcastic parenting advice? Let’s do this.

PROBLEM:

My boys (4 & 7) seem to think I am their personal slave and think that I was put on the earth to serve them. They don’t understand my sarcasm when I answer them with ‘Sure, Prince William/Harry, I will let this boiling water go all over the stove so I can run to your room at the other side of the house to find your latest loom band project.’ They bark orders at me in a military-like manner. I am no pushover; in fact my siblings and friends say I am stroppy. How do I get their Royal Highnesses to realise that I was not put on this earth to feed them grapes while they lie on the chaise lounges?

ADVICE:

First, I have to admit that I had no idea what “stroppy” meant when I read it, so I had to look it up, and apparently “stroppy” is a British term that means “easily offended or annoyed; ill-tempered or belligerent.” (SIDE NOTE: No wonder I can never understand a fucking thing people say on British TV shows and movies. I have the dumb when it comes to British slang.)

With that said, I think the obvious problem here is that these kids have solid self-esteems that are impenetrable by even the most veteran obstinance. There’s nothing more dangerous to a parent’s sanity than kids who like themselves and believe they deserve round-the-clock attention and care. If it makes you feel any better, most of us are dealing with entitled little assholes. Their confidence is our nemesis. Which is why destroying it is crucial.

I’m pretty sure the most critical action you can take is to tear these kids down regularly. Really drive home the idea that they are bratty little shits who are lucky they’re allowed to live inside the house at all instead of being relegated to a backyard dwelling made of garbage glued together with their tears on a solid foundation of broken dreams. In fact, you should say exactly that to them as often as possible. If they’re not rocking in the corner, sobbing into the tattered rags with which you’ve replaced their clothing in an attempt to humble them (also a must-do) for at least three-quarters of the day, you’re not doing it right.

Should you find this maneuver only slightly to completely not effective, consider employing one or more of these additional tactics until you’ve achieved desired results:

1. Burn everything they order you to retrieve for them. They demand you to get that loom band project for them? Oblige with a smile and then toss it in the fire. Few things drive home the idea that mom means business like watching their happiness meet a slow, painful demise.

2. Lace their food with laxatives. Nothing will deter rude, repeated commands to “Feed me right NOW!” like a violent case of the thunder down under.

3. Invite Major Payne to lease space in your guest room. Sometimes kids need to be berated by complete strangers in addition to their own parents to disengage total twatiness.

4. Convince them that toys eat the souls of naughty boys and girls. Show them this video as evidence.

If they still won’t behave, I’m afraid you’ve only got one course of action remaining: Drown yourself in cheap vodka and Boone’s Farm and resign to living sloshed off your tits for the next 30+ years.

DISCLAIMER: This is not serious parenting advice. Don’t do any of it. If you do, I will personally report you to Child Protective Services.

Interested in potentially having your problem featured in this column? Click here to submit it!