Testing the Laws of Elasticity

Summertime is a busy time in Wepa Woman's world. I spend my Sundays patrolling Orchard Beach here in the Bronx, affectionately (and aptly) named "Chocha" Beach (named, of course, for the abundance of Female genetalia on display). The mauraudery yesterday was FOOLISH! I have never had to apprehend so many wierdos and cases in my LIFE! It was a chronic epidemic of the 5 T's - Tasteless, Tacky, Taudry and TOO TOO Ethnic.
Which leads me to the first real case... the Case of the Drunken Toothless Woman with Baggy shorts and her Ruddy Faced friends. She'd taken center stage on the steps of the beach, stumbling about, swaying her hips erratically to the sounds of trumpets and congas. I'd noticed the children, watching in horror as Grandma gyrated her hips and Grind,step step Grind step step... eww. Their poor little faces. I pondered intervention. I thought, Grandma's lived a full life, let her be, but the youngest child walked over to me, little eyes drawn from the heat and no beverages that weren't 80 proof in the cooler for them, and said, "Excuse me. Are you Wepa Woman?" "Yes, sweetheart. Yes I am. Is everything ok?" In the meekest voice the child said. "Wepa Woman, where are all of grandma's teeth?" That is when I lost it. I reached into my utility belt and gave her a Hi C fruit juice box (hey, that's all I had) and sat her down with another little boy who'd been playing by himself in the sand while Mommy tanned, coochie pointing toward the boardwalk, in a barely there Thong that her arse had apparently swallowed whole. I dealt with that one as soon as I saw her, no questions asked.

I snatched up Grandma as discreetly as I could and walked her and her friends to the nearest corner for a stitch of privacy. The smell of booze was pouring from her body and her friends were chewing on some version of Spanish that was unintelligable, because of both intoxication and low down livin. I asked Grandma what she was thinking, if she even considered the embarrasment of her grandchildren, their need for a stable woman figure in their lives. I tried to call on their intellect and maternal instincts, plead with them for prudence, and suddenly, "Yo no se que es lo que se cree esta tipa, Ju can take jou advice ang estik it up jou ass. I been raising babees seense i was 13 jears ol', tu no eres nadie to be tellin me chit! Vete pa' la mierda!" and that is, of course, when I lost it completely....

Composure, Wepa, Composure. I took a minute to ponder the um- eloquence with which she posed her arguement. Did I know what kind of life she;d seen? No. Had I walked in her shoes, would I be the same? Not sure. But I also considered the words that have molded me, handed down by The Wise One... she told me UNO PUEDE SER POBRE PERO NO PUERCO. YOU MAY BE POOR BUT YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE A PIG. The Wise One was raised in a time very different from this time. She was raised killing her meals and sleeping in hammocks. She raised other people's children to ensure her daily meals and a place to rest her head. She knew of poverty and illiteracy, loss and growth. The Wise One's knowlege is powerful and sobering.
Sobering. Yes! That;s it! Sober this drunk ass woman up! clean her act! But not without knockin some sense into her first...

How would you do it??/ I'll tell you what happened here if you tell me what you'd do in this situation....

I eagerly await your response!

WEPPPPPPAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!