If you refuse to properly wrangle your children, I just might do it for you.

Alongside a platoon suckers this past week, I was one of the glassy eyed schmucks totting bags of Christmas gifts and hunting down sales like they were the Holy Grail. In my journey, I realized two things: 1.) I hate to shop and should never do it any time remotely near Thanksgiving weekend and 2.) small children should not be allowed outside of the house.

What I saw in a mere few hours was astounding. Aside from the walking-dead lines of husbands holding purses, I saw 20 acts of whining, nine tantrums and one thing I can only consider a complete mental breakdown of a little boy who was no more than 10 years old. He threw himself into violent convulsions and began speaking in archaic tongues and vile shrieks all because of a book he wanted for Christmas.

What I failed to see, however, was discipline of any kind. Now, I’ve thrown more than my fair share of tantrums, and some would say this column falls under that heading, but I lived in perennial fear of the repercussions of mercilessly being dragged by the ear through a crowd and berated publicly. Unorthodoxed sure, but it certainly did the trick.

I can’t condone physical violence against children in order to improve poor behavior, but I can say I often wonder why it’s illegal to discipline other people’s children if the parents refuse to do so. I know it’s not my place to tell others how to rear a child, but if it stops the eardrum-piercing shriek of a one of the little monsters trying to get his or her mother’s attention, or quell the obnoxious whining of a toddler begging fruitlessly for some trinket, it’s entirely worth it.

There are laws about leashing a dog, yet children can run free through a department store without repercussion. Forget Fido, leash your child for the good of everyone around you. And if you are within earshot of rambunctious children with worthless caregivers, suggest the leash solution, or simply carry around handcuffs and latch the little ankle-biter to a radiator until a parent decides to act like one.

Thankfully, the only children I typically see on campus are the loathsome horde often zipping through Buzzard like a swarm of locusts. To see them is like witnessing organized chaos being led through a hallway with sound effects of squeaks and whines always on the brink of breaking away and bouncing like a Super Ball.

Biblical plagues and bouncing balls aside, the majority of students on campus (thankfully) don’t have children, but many of them are considering it. Before the thought goes any further, make yourself a tape of bloodcurdling screeches and incessant crying and listen to it for weeks straight. I imagine this can only resemble the torture of children.

And if that doesn’t do the trick, borrow a child for a day and see how it plays out. Chances are good that having the rug-rat for a day or two will be the best contraceptive you’ll ever find. And if you plan on teaching the little sprouts, as many Eastern students are, be fully prepared to never want simpering progeny of your own.

It’s not that I hate children so much as I hate poorly behaved children with brain-dead parents who have absolutely no concept of publicly appropriate behavior.

If you’re out shopping for the plethora of upcoming holidays, notice these children. Maybe, instead of buying your family members some present, give them the gift of silence and make up for years of lost holiday time. The gift may prove truly golden.