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Radar interviews a handful of the private coaches who tutor the spoiled children of Hollywood in demanding athletic activities like "catch" and "swimming," a subset of the babysitter caste whose efforts allow stay-at-home moms and busy, powerful dads to spend more quality time fucking the pool boy and their call-rollers, respectively. And how do these privileged kids act during their lessons? According to the pseudonymous coaches' anecdotes, they're pretty much the don't-you-know-who-my-daddy-is mini-tyrants you'd expect:

Donna: I had a four-year-old, as I walked in for his swim lesson, tell me, "I'm not ready to swim," and "I'm your boss." I picked him up, dropped him in the middle of the pool, and said, "Now who's the boss?"
Could he swim?
 Donna: Not completely, but I was close by.
Talk about tough love. Did the parents see you?
 Donna: No.

Tom: These kids can be outrageous. I had an eight-year-old get out of the pool at the beginning of his swim lesson and say, "I'm taking my sushi into the pool with me." I looked at the mom and said, "Are you kidding me?" She said, "Well, he hasn't eaten yet."
Jimmy: She's one of those Hollywood housewives that have no authority. Half of the sushi is falling out of his mouth and floating in the pool.
The mother isn't doing anything?
 Jimmy: Nothing. The tray was floating on a raft. Every time he took a bite, half of it went in the pool.

Luckily for the parents, the instructors (like virtually everyone else in this town) are working towards careers in the business, and aren't willing to sacrifice their future careers by allowing Darwinian forces to remove wek, sushi-gobbling swimmers from the gene pool, ensuring that the next generation of unbearable Hollywood assholes will survive long enough to eventually take their rightful places atop studios and agencies.