Plus Nine Reasons Your Kids Will Never Amount to Anything.
Let’s face it: Parenting is a huge pain in the ass, and you’re ill-equipped.
No one taught you jack-squat about being a dad, so if your kids are anything other than a giant disappointment, it will be the surprise of the century.
Procreation of the species… what a massive con.
You’re going along fine, a curious creature of the world, and then wham, you turn 12 and can think of nothing but sex. Cars, sports, slingshots, comics, crafts, none of them matter anymore.
It’s all girls, all the time.
Whether at the park, mall, the airport, math class or even church, you’re mostly just scanning for cleavage, like the God-damn terminator (it can’t be bargained with…).
You develop a Spidey-sense, biting your lip and barely containing yourself as the big-breasted twenty-something at the front desk smiles, bats her eyelashes, then leans over slowly to sign you in at the orthodontist.
You reach adulthood, find that special someone, the right combination of (a) cleavage and (b) a willingness to return your phone calls, you procreate, and then WHAM, your life is really over.
Like a loose habanero splattered on the interstate of life, your bright orange and spicy demeanor shrivels and browns in the sun, seeds and juices drying and dying on the dirty asphalt.
The freedom you had, you didn’t even understand, not until it was gone, bludgeoned into submission by fatherhood’s repeated blows raining down like Mike Tyson with a pillowcase full of batteries.
But at least you’re now the proud owner of a cozy little pigsty.
With four cramped bedrooms, two filthy baths, and wall-to-wall vomit stained carpets, it’s your slice of heaven, the blotches of old puke dotting the landscape like pepperoni and sausage. The bank has a lien on it, but your family gets to live there as long as you don’t miss a payment.
That’s gotten harder as the spending ramps up.
The loving wife, covered in baby-vomit herself, insists on four strollers, two bouncers, three high chairs, and 1,000 other pieces of junk-du-jour, and you’re too tired to argue about most of it.
Besides, a few extra strollers seem like a small consolation after the beating her world-class set of gazungas took from the pregnancies, the nursing, and the hospital-grade breast pump.
You can still hear it pumping away when you close your eyes, memories of the God-damn phalanges wreaking havoc on all things sacred. Some things, you just can’t unremember.
Then, suddenly, a glimmer of hope…
The babies, the lil’ mother-suckers, they start to get cute. They crawl, then pull themselves up on their hind legs, like proud little apes going upright for the first time. Their first word?
“Daddy”, of course, as if trying to win you over.
They can’t get enough of your goofy jokes, and those big smiles come charging to greet you at the front door like clockwork the instant you walk in from the office.
You’re a rock star in your pigsty, and it feels good. And then…
Whammo, the kids turn 12 and start thinking about girls (or boys). And you… well, you’re just an old Batman comic they want nothing to do with.
Ignored for the next ten years except when you’re signing checks, the last four clean out your retirement funds, as they scan for co-eds and cleavage at an institution of “higher learning”.
But at least you know their safe, sucking down Natty Ice through a beer bong, smoking fat joints, popping pills, getting hammered, and having unprotected sex five nights per week.
And just like that, you’re all alone again. Cold, tired, broke and alone.
They take the best years of your life. It’s the con of the century, old friend, but here are nine reasons why the joke is on them-
1. Because every kid gets a trophy
This charade is going to get ugly.
Self-esteem is now cultivated over accomplishment or even effort. You can only hope to be dead or in jail when this experiment explodes all over the bathroom floor of society.
2. Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook, and Boogler
I made the last one up to represent all the other snarky little “apps” they’re engineering right now to capture your children’s attention permanently, carefully doling out dopamine doses so they can detach from the natural world and live completely inside their phones.
3. Processed mush
Yes, we are “beyond food” now.
The human race has successfully removed meat from the burger (if you call that successful). I’m just waiting for the day I can take my burger intravenously. Imagine the man your grandfather would have been if he only ate more processed shit like lunchables and pea protein.
4. Gym class
As in, they don’t have it anymore.
They re-named it PE, and then cut it to once per week. Don’t get me started on music and art, now all but eliminated.
5. Microaggressions and safe spaces
An army of busybodies is spending six hours every day teaching your children to be soft, pathetic little waifs, who expect to never have their cushy little ideas challenged.
Resilience is not born inside safe spaces.
6. The activities director
Is it just my kids, or do yours ask what they should do every moment of every day? Go outside and catch some critters, build a fort, and then get lost in the woods until dinner, damn it. You’re a kid!
Everyone is doing it.
Ready for a credit card, son? How about a car loan? Student loan? Need a new mattress? Want to lose weight? Why do the work, when you can have liposuction on Care Credit, no money down!
8. Democratic socialism
Like little chicks crying for mother bird to regurgitate an old worm, this will single-handedly assure your kids are completely useless, able only to whine for more government to save them from the boogieman. Teaching kids to ignore the lessons of history and aspire to be socialist, wow, how the mighty have fallen.
9. The collapse of the petrodollar
We could easily put the Federal Reserve here, but let’s widen the lens and remember as a country we don’t even have full control of what happens to the dollar system.
When Saudi Arabia starts accepting Yuan, Euros, Bitcoin, or Gold for oil, it’s game over for the USA. All those US Dollars held internationally will flood home, overwhelming prices like a Japanese tsunami.
So, what’s a dad to do? Put your head in the sand, of course.
Slobber down the mainstream narrative, buy more plastic junk, and dutifully vote, Democrat or Republican (doesn’t matter which, just as long as you toe the line). You’ll be irrelevant soon enough anyway.
Nothing to see here.
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