>>> Casual Misanthropy August 16, 2006
By staff writer JD Rebello
August 16, 2006
There are a couple of girls in every group of friends who love to talk about how much they can’t wait to be a mother. These girls are easily identifiable: they watch Baby Story, wear a lot of pink, and try to put you down if you’ve had too much to drink. Seriously, there should be laws against that. This is college. (Well, not for me, because I’m the stupid fuck who graduated.) But still, if I want to get shitfaced, puke on a cop, and proceed to punch said cop in the jaw, then scream out, “Fuck affirmative action, illegal aliens are ruining my country!!” even though the cop is white and from New Hampshire, then let me do it. Christ, this is America.
The whole kids thing is this idiotic desire we sometimes have to want to move our lives faster than normal. For example, I received an invitation to an engagement party a few weeks ago. At the time, it was kind of weird—the first of my close high school friends was about to walk the plank. And then there’s me, masturbating twice daily, spending hours staring at my fantasy team, and trying to suppress my crush on the chick driver in Crazy Taxi. I don’t even have a girlfriend. (That’s right ladies, he’s single.)
“It’s not enough for your kids to respect you because you’re a parent. They need to learn the difference between a right and left hook to the jaw.”
Anyway, it occurred to me. I’m 22. I’m not behind. How many of your friends are single and/or not getting laid regularly? (If a lot are, humor me by never reading my column again.) The answer should be lots.
Going back to my long-dormant previous point, why would anybody want to have kids? It’s a bad idea, like a sequel to Clerks, or getting swept by the Royals (fuck, that pissed me off).
Why is it a bad idea to have kids? Let me count the ways.
Granted it sucks for the girl, blah blah morning sickness and yaddi yadda bleeding from the crotch, but think of the guy. Shit. All of a sudden, your woman gets fat. And ugly. And freckly. And emotional (just kidding, girls are emotional anyway… imploded uterus or nay). Plus, you know what else? You have to be there for her no matter what. Getting pregnant for a girl is like a “Get Out of Jail Free” card for sluts. Your woman, if preggo, can take a dump in your sock drawer and throw your flat screen TV at your dog and all you can say is, “Would you like some more ice cream?”
Babies are gross.
All you ever see on TV are cute babies. But babies are like incontinent dogs. If a dog walked over to your dinner table and took a shit on your pork chop, you’d beat it with a newspaper. But if a baby drops a deuce, everyone says how cute it is, and then they hold it in their hand and mail pieces of it to relatives, who in turn eat it because baby poop possesses magical powers.
Plus, when babies eat, you have to burp them until they regurgitate. That’s fucking nasty.
Abortions are fun.
I’m just kidding. But seriously, women deserve the right to choose what’s best for their bodies. “Vote No on 24”… or something, I don’t care.
It turns you into a crazy person.
I was in Target last week buying like, seven pillows for 30 cents, and there was this little kid, who randomly decided to lie face-down on the floor and start screaming. The mom, who looked like an ostrich who body-builds, did nothing. She sat and watched her invalid son make a scene.
I’m not saying I’d make a great parent, but if it were me, I’d give it something to scream about. I’d take the little shit to sporting goods and work on my fucking golf swing. What is wrong with parents?
For example, I have this little second cousin. He came to my house over Christmas. I would rather have cancer than have this kid in my house ever again. He ran into my bedroom, threw all this shit on the floor, stepped on my brand new laptop, and tried to huck the gold watch my grandfather gave me before he died at the wall. Before he did, I grabbed it away from him and said “Don’t do that!” You know what the little fucker said? “FUCK YOU!” He’s three.
You guys read my columns. You know I have a temper. I was so angry I had to escort him out of my room because I’d have killed him. I honestly would have. Stabbed in the heart. When the little bastard finally left, my dad came up to my brother and me and said, “That’s why you use condoms.” As always, Dad’s right.
So how can we take care of our kids without turning into blazing assholes?
1. The glorious return of child abuse.
Child abuse gets a real bad rap. I’m not saying you should come home and beat your kids for sport. That’s mean-spirited. But if the kid does something fucked up, you should be more than willing to give it a backhand. See, it’s not enough for your kids to just respect you because you’re a parent. You need the kid to learn the difference between a right and left hook to the jaw.
This occurs all though our lives. I know if I walk up to a cop and tell him I’m going to bang his daughter in the two-hole, I’m going to get a billy club to the nuts. If I walk up to a group of Muslims and say, “You know what’s swell? Democracy and women’s rights,” I know my plane’s going to get blown up.
That’s because I’ve been taught to fear. Fear is not a bad thing—it helps you learn right from wrong. When you’re a little kid, you don’t know that it’s wrong to cut the dog’s penis off and paint the walls with the bloody end. And if your parents rant and rave, screaming, “You can’t cut off Fido’s cock! That’s mean!!” you’d be like, fuck that. You had a great time cutting off your poor dog’s manhood and making a big production out of it. All you did was get yelled at. Poor Fido is still emasculated and you’re still freer than a cow on a vegan farm.
But, if mom and pops give you a royal beatdown and even dare to let Fido exact his revenge, you’d know better. That’s not mean, that’s logic. I can’t be the only one who’s seen Hard to Kill. If it works for Steven Seagal, it can certainly work for you and your shitty child.
2. Don’t be too much of a stickler.
It always amazes me when parents won’t let their kids watch R-rated movies. I’ve been watching profanity-laced movies since I was 7, and I’m fucking fine. Trust me, your kids will fucking hate you. So don’t be a cunt.
3. Teach your kids about alcohol at an early age.
When I was a little tyke, my dad would have me throw his empties away. (As I should have—the role of a child is to get beers for his dad and throw them out when he’s done. My dad hasn’t gotten himself a beer in 22 years. Sometimes I drive home from Boston to get him a beer.) Anyway, I used to drink the very last drop. It was great. Today I run up $100 bar tabs and leave late-night drunken emails like, “You only wish you had this dick in your mouth.” I sent that one to my boss. Good stuff.
4. If you’re raising a boy and you want him to be into sports, don’t let him play Little League.
I played Little League and sucked at it. As a result, I hated baseball. That’s called the transitive property. It took like five years for me to embrace it again. Little League ruins everything. My suggestion? Let the kid play fantasy baseball. Who doesn’t have a good time playing fantasy baseball? There’s minimal embarrassment, and nobody has to take a line drive to the nuts.
Speaking of Little League, I’m highly anticipating the Little League World Series. I don’t really care who wins, but I love watching the losing team cry. Why? Because I knew a few of those kids in junior high. They were a bunch of faggots who thought they were the shit because their dad coached the team and he let his retarded invalid son pitch every game even though he had an arm like a fucking noodle. Watching them cry gives me so much satisfaction. That, and the knowledge they’re currently cleaning dog shit for a living.
God, it was hard to even type that with a straight face. If you’re Catholic, don’t worry about the pre-marriage thing. Right now, Jesus is dealing with a President who’s killing thousands every day in his name. He has bigger fish to fry than you fucking a 17-year-old.
By the way, if you’re reading this on Wednesday, it’s my 23rd birthday. Thanks for remembering, you fucking ingrates.
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