That's My Baby!
Greetings folks, how are you doing today? Actually your current condition means nothing to me, I was just making small talk. I myself have had a really busy week and I'm pretty worn out but am, I think, a little wiser. It all started when I was watching one of my favorite shows called "That's My Baby" on Animal Planet. The program features the story of a baby animal, and the struggles of the parents and caretaker in the months following conception. Then it hit me that if I ever figure out how to make a baby, one day I might become a father. The vagina is still a mystery and puzzles me to no end; much like a Rubix cube except you can't remove the stickers to cheat. Aside from that, I am totally unprepared for the rigors of parenthood, and this caused me a great deal of worry. What if I mess up raising it and it grows into the next Hitler, killing millions of people just because I didn't take him to ball games, or happened to lock him in the closet with large poisonous spiders.
The responsibility for such an important thing was overbearing to me, and I felt that I needed to teach myself the proper way to raise children so I would be prepared for the future. I tried searching the Internet for help since everybody knows the Internet is the information superhighway, but all I found was terrible advice and naughty ladies taking their clothes off. Just when I was ready to give up hope, I saw a commercial for a center called Parenthood Plus that is specialized in teaching all the ins and outs of raising a bratling. I started their course right away and I must say I was impressed at their professionalism and thoroughness. Once I completed a three-day course on child rearing, I was given a simulation baby that I had to take care of for a full week.
The baby, who I named Pepe after my great-grandfather, was made up of state of the art technology that comes very close to simulating a real baby. I had to feed it, change it, burp it, and also try to be careful with it since he has damage sensors that would keep a record of any trauma. Before being issued the robotic tot, I was given a battery of mental and physical tests. The results concluded that I had very weak genes and I was liable to smoke crack around the pregnant mother, so they gave me a premature flipper baby instead of a regular one. I was a tad insulted, but I understand that they wanted to make this as realistic as possible. I brought Pepe home and started my first day as a father. Over the course of the week I think I've become very experienced, and would like to share some parenthood tips with all of you future parents.
If a baby keeps crying, shake it until it stops.
The people at Parenthood Plus were not kidding when they said the baby was super-realistic, because it would not stop crying. At 8 p.m., I placed Pepe in his crib for bedtime and turned on my sports program, but in no less than 15 minutes it started to wail. I paged through my baby handbook to figure out how to make it stop, but then remembered I had torn those pages out that morning to use as rolling papers. I first tried giving it a bottle, but it continued to cry like a screeching car alarm. I then tried to reason with Pepe, explaining to him that there is no logical reason for him to be crying, but he was just ignoring me at this point and being a little bitch. I shut the bedroom door, cranked up the sports game, and tried to ignore the nightmare in the next room. Then I just couldn't take it anymore and yanked Pepe from his cage, giving him the shaking of a lifetime. Miraculously the baby stopped crying after the violent shake. At first I become a little scared, thinking I might have snapped its neck, but I was pretty he was just sleeping so I quietly placed it back in the crib and went back to watching my sports program in peace. Since then I've found out that a good throttle can put the baby to sleep for up to 4 hours at a time, or 6 hours if you drop it down a flight of stairs.
Potty training is important.
I heard that one of the hardest things to teach a young baby is the proper place to go ca-ca, poo-poo, nimbus, or checher. Sure they wear diapers, but they can't keep going through life wearing them. I know I'm not one to talk since I wore diapers until I was 16, but I had a nervous condition so that was different. I needed to teach Pepe early on the proper places to go to the bathroom, mostly so I don't have to change his stank ass every couple hours. I took off Pepe's diaper and let him roam about like a free spirit, and sure enough he made a large deposit on the carpet. This is what I was hoping for so I could start teaching him that it's wrong by rubbing his nose in it, and then showing him the proper place to do his business; in the litter box like the other beasts of the household. Once young Pepe associates the litter box as a potty with the help of physical enforcement, his droppings will be easy to clean and I can get on with my busy day of trading Pokeman cards online.
If you need to go out, hire a babysitter.
A lot of people think that just because you have a baby, your social life is at an end. This doesn't have to be the case. All you need to do is hire somebody to watch the baby for a few hours or weeks depending where you are going. As long as they know how to feed a baby and turn it over from time to time, it's really no big deal. In fact, I went out for a night of drinking and dancing and hired this dude named "Larry" that sits in front of the local 7-11. Larry served in Vietnam, and legend has it is that he was tripping on 50 hits of acid during the Tet Offensive, and as a result has been a little out of it ever since. But I was in a bind and didn't want to have to ask my parents, so I gave Larry 10 bucks to sit on the couch all night and watch Pepe. When I came home at 2:00 in the morning, I saw the most precious sight ever. Larry was totally stoned out of his gourd and he was trying to suckle Pepe. It seems that Larry had really taken a liking to the little fella and was overwhelmed with motherly instincts. I think if I do end up having a real baby, Larry will become my go-to guy for babysitting. Even though he got the kitten really high and ate all the Fritos, I feel that he has a positive aura.
The driveway is no place to play.
I don't know how many goddamn times I have to tell that little shit to stay out of the goddamn driveway with his toys and tomfoolery. If I come home from a long days' work, the last thing I'm looking out for is a little goblin playing hopscotch in my vehicle space. When I'm driving my SUV, I am the master of the road, and all small creatures that tread in my path will fall before me, for I will not swerve or give way to such impudence. This goes for squirrels, possums, turtles, and even babies. After running over Pepe in the driveway, I brought him inside the house and made sure he learned his lesson about the driveway by beating the love of our savior and the holy ghost into his hide with my belt. If they don't learn to respect the rules at an early age, they'll walk all over you later on. The good part about all this is that my tire destroyed some of his computer chips and now he can now longer go to the bathroom, saving me the task of cleaning the litter box.
Puppies love babies!
If money is a little tight and you don't want to pay for a babysitter, puppies will suffice. I found out very quickly that puppies love babies. Once I put Pepe on the ground for them to smell, they became very excited and started to lick and chew Pepe all over his little flipper baby body. One of the puppies hopped on Pepe, and the baby let out a scream of either extreme delight or pain. I had to go to the store to pick up a case of Natty Lite, so I left the baby with the puppies so they could play together. When I returned with the beer, I was puzzled because I couldn't find Pepe anywhere. I saw the puppies romping in the backyard where I left him, but the troublesome tot was nowhere to be seen. Then I heard muffled cries coming from a freshly dug hole in the ground. It appeared that the puppies were very fond of Pepe, and buried him in a hole to save for later, like a favorite bone or toy. Well I dug up little Pepe, washed him off with a hose, and all of us had a good laugh while I downed some cold ones. I gave a little beer to Pepe, and he didn't cry all night! It's never too young to start.
Warning, babies are flammable.
I really wish they covered this in the Parenthood Plus class, but unfortunately I found out the hard way. While I was BBQing some mighty fine sausages, I placed Pepe on the side of the grill so he could watch and learn. I let the meat sizzle while I went inside for a short nap, letting Pepe take over control of the tongs. When I came back outside, Pepe was on the ground and smothered in flames. I cried out "my baby!" and ran inside the house to call the fire department. 20 minutes later the truck pulled up and shot Pepe with a heavy blast of water, dousing the flames and knocking his charred limbs off. I fell to my knees over my dead baby and wept like only a father could weep. No man should have to see his son die before him. I was about to start digging a hole to bury my poor son, but then I remembered I had to return it to the class the next day so I could pass and become a certified parent. I broke out my sewing kit and got to work. .
The limbs were reattached with no trouble, but Pepe's face was a little blackened and disfigured. I told the instructors that he was just going through an awkward stage, but they didn't buy it. When they hooked him up to the computer and ran the damage diagnostics, they were shocked and appalled at the amount of trauma inflicted in the one-week period. They said Pepe's circuits recorded more physical pressure than all the bullets and bombs used in WW1 and WW2 combined. They asked me to leave and notified the Child Welfare department that if I should ever spawn a child, it should be taken from my custody right away. Although all of this is a real disappointment, and I thought I did a good job, it's probably for the best since I don't really want kids anyway. Although they took Pepe away from me, I will always remember him and the time we shared together as a family.
(This update is dedicated to Albert Price, who passed away recently from choking on a Cheese Nip, and all the fine men and women that served and died in Vietnam).