Not one bit.

I don’t find them cute, or interesting, or entertaining. Sure, people are constantly birthing them, gushing on and on about little Archibald or Tamara or whatever the hell names are trendy nowadays.

The fact is? I don’t care.

I’m glad they make you happy, sincerely. I hope they continue to make you and yours incredibly happy while they drain your bank account and push you into an early grave. Some people actually LIKE that.

                          I personally, have other plans.

They feel fulfilled and productive and whatever ridiculous words parents use to describe their self-imposed servitude and unrepentant masochism. If you want to have them, don’t let me stop you. Some people, I’m sure, make wonderful parents. If so, God bless you. But, I’m utterly flabbergasted at how many individuals I encounter on a daily basis who simply are not fit to be parents. Birth control is remarkable affordable and really isn’t all that difficult. If you want to bang, use it. Otherwise, the rest of us are forced to endure drooling toddlers licking everything in sight, running, screaming, crying, all of that. You see a cute, cooing baby, I see a brimming petri dish.

In your own home? I don’t give a fuck what they do. The big different between a responsible parent and the shameless hormone-happy dirtbag is this: your decision to reproduce should not effect me. Period.

I once had a close friend tell me that, on rearing children, “Sometimes you’re spent. You’re done. You’ve done all you can, and the world can deal with the rest”. No. That is bullshit, man. Bullshit.

Let me tell all of you a story, an entertaining yarn if you will:Several years ago, I worked at a Goodwill retail store. Encountering misbehaving children on a daily basis, I was more or less numb to it. A woman would come in at least once a week, and bring both of her grandchildren in. The two blond kids were pretty well-behaved, and never bothered anybody. The little boy was by the window, playing with a katydid, and I figured, ‘Alright you asshole, be nice to the little boy. You at least have some common ground here.’ I’ve had a lifelong love of insects since I was his age (about 6) so I figured I could shoot the shit with him. I proceed to, and he laughs and smiles and tells me of his favorite bugs. The next thing I know, a customer is SCREAMING at me to know where his parents are, accusing me of being a child molester and begging for help, telling me I need therapy. Honest to God, I almost knocked this woman to the ground in rage, and I would NEVER, EVER strike a female. The situation was resolved later, and she apologized to me after some colorful support by everyone in the store that knew me, but the fact is I have never spoken to a child in public ever since then. What? I tell someone their little girl is cute and I wind up in cuffs? Fuck that. I have never had a positive experience with children, and maybe I’m being close-minded but I have no desire to cultivate one.

I’m not the only one with an experience like that, either. I read a story last year about a teenager who was fucking ARRESTED for trying to help a kid find their mom.

” The arrest report acknowledges the boy appears to have been trying to help the child, but concludes by saying there was “probable cause” for arrest under charges of “false imprisonment.” “

Read the full story here. So, some folks with compatible genitalia decide to generate some slobbering fuck-trophy and bore all of their friends and relatives with every vomit and shit their little crotch-fruit generates with fawning, mindless adoration. They’re just *sniff* so proud. Then, they LOSE the little bastard and PRESS CHARGES against the miserable sap who actually has a shred of human decency.

I say, fuck children.

(Not literally, Goodwill-lady, you fucking twat.)

Finally, this.

*Thanks for listening, folks! Remember, have yourselves spayed or neutered!*

at the new apartment. Until I get that taken care of, my updates will be few and far between. Besides, I don’t have anything interesting to say, eh?

coffee.

I love the stuff; I drink 3 pots a day. Aside from occasional sleeplessness, it doesn’t bug me. May precipitate a mild panic attack, but those happen anyways, no biggie. Today, I had about a pot, some of it infused with ginseng. I…do not feel right. It has been almost 5 hours since I first started to feel unwell. This is like a panic attack, but not. I can’t even describe it. I feel like I am going to explode, mentally and physically. If I somehow disappear or something else unfortunate…keep it weird for me, friends.