Does anybody else remember that really edgy show in the 80’s about a rich white guy who adopted poor black kids from Harlem? It wasn’t a show about Madonna. No, I’m not talking about Brangelina, either. It was called Diff’rent Strokes. Before it was cool to have black kids, Philip Drummond was a rebel, living in a penthouse in the city raising the likes of Gary Coleman and Todd Bridges. This was, of course, before Todd Bridges beat up Vanilla Ice.

I suppose the 80’s were good for a few things after all, aside from jelly bracelets, slap bracelets, and Whitesnake. I guess what I don’t understand though, is the fascination with adopting children from third world countries. What is it about them that makes them so great?

Let’s face it, kids suck to begin with. They don’t know shit. They turn out to be punks with skateboards and hang out at the mall all day. Why would you want a kid from some poor country in Africa, when you can adopt an angry black kid from Compton? So what if he wins the Boston Marathon one day, I’d rather be the first person on my all-white suburban block to have my very own gang banger. Forget about Bloods and Crips, we’ll have Abercrombies and Fitches. I better not see Todd wearing a sweater in my gang’s colors or he’s not getting invited to my Christmas party.

The only benefit of adopting some malnourished kids from Kenya is that they’re not used to eating, sleeping, or shitting indoors. Fencing in your yard and letting them run around outside is actually an upgrade from the life they’ve been living.

My level of confusion probably stems from the fact that I’ve recently been diagnosed with Nicole Richie Syndrome—NRS for short. NRS isn’t when you’re fat one day and look like a 12-year-old boy the next. It’s the insane jealousy of people who were adopted by filthy rich celebrities who now have it easy the rest of their lives.

If you come from a regular dysfunctional family like mine, you grow up like I did. For example, when I was a kid my parents used to call me Evil Knievel because I would wreck my bike every other day. Why did I wreck on my bike all the time? Because I was a shithead. I used to ride the thing with no hands. It’s always fun explaining that one to your mom.

Mom: How did you crash into that parked car again?

You: I was riding my bike with no hands.
Why would you do that?
Because I’m a shithead.

Advice to kids: if you want to ride your bike with no hands, join the fucking circus, you clown. I lost my first tooth when I was 5 years old trying to jump a sewer on my bike. The tooth fairy didn’t leave me shit, either. Do you know why? Because I was a stupid 5-year-old asshole. Instead, she snuck into my house (and when I say snuck into my house, I mean my parents let her in the front door) and punched me in the face.

The next day, I pedaled into a mailbox. To be honest, I’m lucky to even be alive. I have never once stopped at a stop sign while riding a bike. That’s just the kind of stupid shit kids do, though.

Plus, little kids get lost all the time. One time I got lost in a toy store and they had to call my parents over the public address system to come get me at customer service, like I was something they had on lay-a-way.

I also broke my arm when I was 5 years old. I was playing trapeze artist in my backyard. I had a swing set and one of those orange and blue Playskool slides. You know, the kind that gave off so much static your arm hair would stand up from 30 miles away. Well, we took the swings off and used the slide as a ramp to jump off of and hang on the swing set. When the older kids moved it back, I decided I had huge nuts and jumped off (against the advice of every kid there) and missed the swing set. I showed up to kindergarten two days later with a cast the size of Mount Everest on my arm. I can still remember the pain from having the doctor set my arm, too. This guy did not fuck around. He didn’t use one of those contraptions to set it; he just grabbed my arm and yanked. I screamed so loud, I think time stopped.

I’m pro-choice, and not for any religious or political reasons people may have, but because I believe in two things. One, that there really is only one choice, and that’s to not have kids. And two, if you’re stupid enough to have kids, you deserve to live with the consequences. All they do is shit their pants and cost money. I put my parents through so much shit as a kid, even I wish I wasn’t born.