And if you cry hard enough, he'll probably even change your diaper.
You are a walking, talking, blubbering Petri dish of insecurities.
It’s obvious to everyone, even the blind dude with the dog that licks your loafers on the subway, but somehow you don’t see it—in much the same way you don’t see your unholy tangle of ear hair.
But you have a cute kid.
It’s weird. Millions of insecure and otherwise ugly to average-looking people have cute kids. No one can explain it, sort of like why people still eat boloney sandwiches.
Anyway, employ this cute kid of yours for something useful like picking up chicks. Even if attractive women won’t talk to you, it doesn’t mean they won’t talk to your child. It works, and if your munchkin is noshing a boloney sandwich at the time, your odds of success are even better. [Click to continue...]
Just lay low for now, and if he's still awake after 10, just crawl out and lick his hand or something.
Every parent needs an ally, and there’s no better source of unknown evil to a toddler or small child than the monster under the bed.
Use this sinister source to your advantage when trying to sway your child to follow any of your home’s random rules that, truth be told, most children with the brain function of a parsnip wouldn’t bother following anyway.
But that’s not the point.
The point, as we see it in our long-term, tainted-by-Donnie-Darko worldview, is to break your child’s will and foment the beginnings of rampant paranoia that will one day have him scampering up trees like a feral tabby when any sign of danger approaches your home. [Click to continue...]
But he only eats one child per year, so you should be safe, Charlie.
The only children who can be trusted are yours—and only if they’ve been sedated with warm milk and apple strudel.
You don’t like the idea of other children or so-called “friends” influencing your brood with talk of the “internet” and its many electronic trappings, as well as using “cell phones” to discuss things such as where they’ll meet to eat food that is fast and “convenient.”
And don’t get us started with the ugly influences on the younger set, including the ne’er-do-wells at Disney.
It’s a dangerous world of ideas, and your children like ideas…mainly because they don’t get any at home. That’s why it’s important to scare away all of their friends and would-be friends. (Studies by researcher-scientist types with bad parts in their hair and acne scars have shown that friendships are ridiculously overrated anyway.)
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A private school bus may be lonely, but at least he won't come home covered with boogers.
Your loins have produced offspring so genetically perfect that the rest of the world—otherwise known as the woefully inadequate—better just get the hell out of their way (your children’s way, not your loin’s).
In school, in sports, in restaurants and even in personal grooming, never forget that, even if the rights and opportunities of others are trampled upon, you have to do what’s best for your child.
In fact, use that line as often as you can. It actually flows effortlessly once you get past its incredibly selfish tone. Go ahead, try it: “I have to do what’s best for my child…I have to do what’s best for my child…I have to do what’s best for my child…”
And…um, don’t say aloud the second part of this sentence, which is “…even if it means you, a common stranger or neighbor, along with your child get shit on in the process.” [Click to continue...]
Keep on chugging, we can't get you new shoes for another year.
Your child has had the appetite of a ravenous hyena since the day he was born.
It’s fairly sickening, actually, with off-the-charts growth (head, feet, adenoids), and his trips to the Waffle House have you heading toward the poor house.
Which is why you should nip his big-boned future in the fat bud and take measures to stunt his growth, both vertically and horizontally.
Seriously, did you really think your child would be in the NBA or become a lanky model? Shrimpy children are underrated for their pluck, spunk and the bit parts they might land in Wizard of Oz revivals for the Lollipop Guild. [Click to continue...]
One day, you'll all be stars. Or baristas at Starbucks.
Everything in life begins and ends with false hope, wagging in our collective faces like the plump teat from which we suck vigorously—only to realize it’s the equivalent of an implant.
It is a fleshy mirage, and we feel like bitter fools after realizing our folly.
This is the stuff of life, naturally, but your child doesn’t know this yet. So that’s why it’s important to fill his little head with a range of opportunities and outcomes that give him false hope.
These daily episodes of delusion will keep him foolish, lazy and happy, making your life fairly simple because you’ll never have to do the hard parenting work of setting realistic expectations. [Click to continue...]
Can you believe the pet store gave him to me for free??
You’re not scared of the medical-hype machine with all this sky-is-falling crap about a pandemic, are you?
We know the media overhypes everything, from those nasty rumors about cigarettes being addictive to the myth about condoms preventing AIDS and how chicks digs them, we know that the media has a tendency to perpetuate unfounded rumors and, dare we say it, lies.
So don’t listen when the government and media start blabbing about impending doom. According to statistics, bad stuff never happens to people like you.
It always happens to other people, who happen to live in the Midwest in doublewides, along rivers, and who have relatives or siblings with the middle name of “Wayne.”
So please, don’t heed the warnings—just ignore swine flu by: [Click to continue...]
Oh calm down, it's not like we're telling you the story of your actual birth.
Kids adore storytelling, and they especially enjoy tales where they are integral parts of the plot and its development.
And there’s no better story than the bumping, grinding and eventual liquid DNA hand-off that took place when little Elizabeth was conceived.
It’s a glorious saga of passion, carnal calisthenics, a $25 entrée…and 10 martinis.
In short, it was a beautiful night—and if you offer every detail of the evening to your child, she’ll appreciate just how incredibly lucky she is that, on the night she was conceived, it was lady’s night at Hungry Harry’s Bar & Grill and martinis were half price. [Click to continue...]
There is DEFINITELY enough in here for some malt liquor.
His piggy bank sits there, pregnant with quarters and tightly folded dollars bills and an occasional 5 spot.
And, truth is, this big ceramic piece of money-saving goodness kind of mocks you.
It says: Look at how Little Daniel is earnestly stowing away money every day, and look at how it accumulates nicely. And you? Your savings account is a barren womb of financial disappointment.
You have no cash these days, and your credit card has become a plastic whore of convenience who lays down any time you’d like.
That’s why swiping your child’s piggy bank cash—just to have a little walking-around money—is important to your social status and the engine that drives our great economy. [Click to continue...]
Diapers: Remember when you used to spend your money on condoms?
Babies are poop-producing machines.
Despite not being able to stand up on her own, the inability to make coherent sentences and the fact that she has absolutely no motor skills, your daughter has managed to become a fierce competitor in the sport of filling up diapers.
And this is a problem. A really shitty one. Aside from draining you financially, the constant diaper changes are robbing you of your free time, and more importantly, your soul. You never signed up to be a butt janitor, and you’re fed up with the third-world-country-esque Diaper Genie and its accompanying stench. (Crap-filled sausage links, really? We’re not buying that shit.)
Which is why you should never change a diaper again in your life, and help your child:
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