So my unit's morale shirt is a tad bit risqué; it's a black T-shirt with one of the characters from Spaceballs (on of the extra guys with the giant white helmet), that says, "Small Unit, Big Balls," in reference to our radomes (for those of you who don't know what those are either, think of the Epcot Center's Spaceship Earth, that big round thing; it's not a radome but is essentially the same thing). Well, it's a very comfy shirt, so I often wear it when I'm running around base. Well, I was in the BX the other day, and this dependapotamus waddles up to me (you know 'em; usually around 250 pounds, at least two or three kids running around, no job, a sense of entitlement even bigger than her waistline, etc.). She jams her grubby finger in my face and goes, "My daughter can see your shirt!" Note: said daughter was three years old and at that moment, unattended as she attempted to shove an ice cream cone down her various face holes. So I told her its my unit's morale shirt, but she told me that it doesn't matter. I was having...a VERY bad day. I will not lie, I am generally quite passive. I am not a big fan of confrontation and will generally pull the eject handle as soon as I get the chance, but this morning I was not in it. I just got blunt and told her if she can read my shirt, she is too talented to care, and if at that age she can understand the double entendre it implies, there has been a parental oversight that warrants a quick report to OSI. She of course does the whole, "Oh, why I-you-I-blubber blubber blubber blubber" thing and I took the opening and got the eff out. God I hate these people. Sadly, I was at Wright-Patterson in Ohio before this, I....have actually seen worse.