It wasn’t just any bullying incident. And this is not just me "blowing things out of proportion", although for the record, I’d like to say that that hasn’t hurt anyone so far - Unlike the punk who opened his mouth this afternoon.

There is something incredibly shocking and enraging in witnessing your son – your son with an intellectual disability – being called "fruitcake". "Bye fruitcake…bye", the kid shouted. My son just sat there, in the van, staring at this little asshole. I wonder what he thought? He knew what was being said. After all, he started hitting his head repeatedly with his fist as a result.

The punk just laughed. It was a few seconds that I promise will not last much longer.

He waved at my son again, about 6 feet away from us in the van, "hey fruitcake, fruitcake, byyyyyyyeeeee"!!!, the punk added.

I sat there, shocked. In denial, really. Could this kid be for real? He sees my son sitting here, with his dad, brother, and mom. Could he really be that bold, that cruel?

I couldn’t be that cruel. Not then, because I would’ve torn his heart out through his windpipe, with my bare hands, and made him watch it stop beating while his eyes still twitched, and then served it up with some fava beans and a nice Chianti for my dinner, but you know, that’s just me.

Coward, he ran away, just like a true bully. And that’s the thing about bullies, they lack self-confidence, social skills, and scream for attention.

Now before you bleeding heart liberals question me, rest assured. I have already called my son’s teacher, who confirmed that my son is not lovingly known as "fruitcake’ at school.

I’ve done the proactive thing. I wrote a letter to the principal, and I am pretty confident it’ll be publicly addressed at school tomorrow, as it should be.

I’ve done the motherly thing, and loved my son. Hugged him. Reassured him. Cheered him up. Baked cookies. I’ve done the coping thing, by eating 3-4 of those cookies, too, as it should be.

And now it is time to kill the mother fucker who hurt my son today. See, the thing with bullies is that they’re afraid…afraid of confident, outgoing women who ain’t afraid to scream and get the attention they want in more effective ways– like writing down their feelings online.

Scared yet, asshole? You should be.