The Blind Side

My advisors have strictly instructed me not to write about blind people today. I am going to obey and figure something else out, but I honestly don't think it would've been a problem to blog about them. The first reason is because I have a cataract over my right eye which prevents me from seeing out of it, therefore making me partially blind... which, in a way, I'd be making fun of myself. The second reason is because they are blind and will never be able to read this. We don't start publishing in braille until next year. I'm also a huge fan of Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder. But since I don't want to cross "the line," I am just going to go in a different direction and cross a different line. Besides, there isn't much humor in blindness, except for their canes, their dogs, and when they run into light posts... but otherwise, no humor. This one time in middle school I was with a few friends outside of the movie theater waiting for "Cellular" to start... a blind woman and her dog were coming toward our sorry excuse for a mall, so thinking I was being the good Christian middle school fucker that I was, I opened the door for her... She responded coldly, "I can get it myself." Sorry, bitch. I think her blindness is a response to her personality cancer... what a consequence.

Consequences have always been the things you imagine when participating in something naughty and they are meant to prevent you from doing it at all... But consequences shouldn't stop people, unless they're fatal... but then again, that would really stop you. Consequences is a very hard word to type, so I am preparing myself for quite a battle with my keyboard here. I hope you appreciate it... I have experienced many consequences and most of them have been rather pleasant. I just copied consequences so now I can just paste it when I say it... Good idea, Mr. Lewis. Anyway, consequences have always pissed me off for a few reasons. Besides the fact that they are always over the top, they don't teach you much and they prevent you from having a little fun in your life... and when you're 19 years old, or anywhere around that age, consequences shouldn't be on your mind... Worry about that shit later. Have fun while you can. Because the consequence of having fun as a teenager is having to become an adult, and I think we all know what happens then... Where does all the fun go?

Reflecting on the "trouble" that I got in last week, I have come to the conclusion that I don't give a shit. I deserved to get in trouble because I was violating a school rule, and I knew it, but I don't care. I learned my lesson... I am just not going to do meth behind the residence hall anymore... I'll do it somewhere else. (If you missed The Gestapo it's not actually meth... save your judgements) I realize all of my friends have reacted to the whole thing differently, and I am on the side of not really caring. I know what I did and I'll stick to that and nothing is going to change that, fix that, or prevent me from doing it again. Life is so sweet and the fact that we get the opportunity to do with it whatever the fuck we want is honestly the coolest thing about waking up in the morning... Surprise yourself and don't give a fuck. That kind of attitude will put a smile on your face, even when they're cremating you after your heart attack. I've still got a few years until I'm an adult... so until then, let's fuck shit up, eh?

We all know I say some shit I wouldn't say in a church or during an inaugural speech, but I am glad I say it. I don't know what the consequence will be to me saying it all, but I do know that by releasing all of these thoughts, even though they are a collection of the world's theories of people and my commentary on them, but either way, I am proud of myself, because if I die tomorrow, I'll have less inside... Every time I type one of these things, I have one thing less to say, and I feel refreshed and allow my mind to consume something new and then I take that and turn it into an offensive and degrading romp and I have the time of my life doing it. If the consequences are negative in the end then so be it, but at the age of nineteen I am going to fuck up on purpose and I am going to love every minute of it... I'll go to class, I'll respect everyone's views, I'll do nice things for people, and when I am passed out next to a mule in a Tijuana alleyway, I will have justified it.

If you are blind to what I say and don't think about all of this, then you're blind to a lot more, because this is pretty basic. Open your eyes, or eye, in my case, and take a look around. There is so much to do in this world, and I believe that a lot more now that I live in a city and not a dinky town that is deserted after 7 PM. I've been skydiving and rode the gondolas in Venice (thanks Frau) and have been places I could've never imagined and I love drinking alcohol and I won't talk about any other substances, but at some point or another I have loved them very much as well, and no matter what kind of bad behavior I get in, I know consequences will likely exist, but the biggest consequence of them is all is to take seriously other consequences, because if you do, you're going to be blind to the most exciting adventure you'll ever get the opportunity to take and that is life.

A "Short" Story

There are many of them living among us... but you may never know it if you don't look down. To be a "little" more clear, let me explain... I am talking about midgets. These half-people seem to be popping up everywhere... on their own TV shows, on public streets!, and most recently, Jackass 3-D, creating the finest scene in the film while displaying their crazy midget antics. I could avoid poking fun at these mythical creatures so I don't come off mean, but since I am sure they can't reach the computer on their desk, I don't think I'll have a problem talking about them, and if they do get upset about what I say, what are they going to do... punch my knee caps? I'll just grab them by the hair and throw them like a Nerf football... Imagine Brett Favre tossing one of those creatures... Okay, maybe Brett Favre isn't the example I am supposed to use... Alright, fuck it... Imagine Brett Favre tossing one of those creatures ten years ago. Okay, that's better. You could tell me that I am being a bully and that it's mean to laugh about their disability, but if God is real, he made them midgets... How can you be any meaner than that?

I have a good friend who has a vision. I don't think he shares it with many people... but I find it fascinating, which leads to me reporting it to all of you. He would like to re-create what MTV means and make his own network... Midget television. It would feature all of the popular shows of today, but would have entirely midget casts. Picture midgets on Survivor. If that image didn't bring a smile to your face, you're dead inside. And if you're dead inside, I will give you another opportunity to feel alive... Imagine "Dancing with the Stars," with midgets... Imagine "Jersey Shore," with midgets. Imagine any fucking show you like... and cut every cast member in half. Isn't it something... midget television may be the next best thing. We could have "The Bachelor," and the guy looking for a lady will be Wee-Man. We'll get twenty midget girls to win his heart... and then we'll make midget game shows and find a midget Oprah. If this network doesn't sound appealing to you... then you're an ass hole.

Midgets would get the opportunity to finally relate to the media instead of being in mediocre shows about themselves on TLC or any other channel that features false accounts of midget life. The shows would be full length in time... Just because the people are short, doesn't mean we will cut short the entertainment. Imagine if we threw in midget sports leagues... the MLB would have an entirely new meaning, and even in that league we would all hate the Yankees, regardless of their height. Midgets deserve the exact same air time as anyone else, and if Snooki can earn an hour on television, then so should all of the short mother fuckers on this planet. Now it looks like I am defending the midgets... I am not necessarily backing them up, but god dammit, watching midgets 24/7 on their own special network sounds like the type of fantasy you could only see on LSD. Midgets are just as interesting as everyone else... they're just shorter... and make you laugh more.

Not because they are funny, but because they are midgets. The other day I saw a midget on campus and automatically wanted to pull out my iPhone and photograph the event, then realized that wouldn't be appropriate... and might directly offend him. I figured I'd save that story for here in order to save my kneecaps... or balls. I almost forgot about my balls. I guess I better say this once... Don't fuck with midgets, especially if you have balls. Now I'm going to have to put on a nut cup everywhere I go due to the danger of midgets... and midgets seem to be doubling in population (not height) because they're just popping up everywhere. In fact, when I wrote that sentence, a midget climbed out from under the bed. Good thing my computer is on my lap or my dreams of having five children would be out the door. Fucking midgets...

Shows like "Little People, Big World," provide a large amount of entertainment for their audience. There is one huge (HA) problem though... it's not long enough. Having the option of watching midgets all day long makes having a hangover sound like the party of the year. You wake up, feel like you're in Hell, pop your fifteen Advils, and you curl up on the couch and spend the entire day enjoying midget television... Sounds like a middle school wet dream to me. So, the next time you are tying your shoes and you see one of these tiny specimens, give them some positive attention, because the attention they are used to are the sets of eyes watching in comical fascination as they live their short existences. The nicest thing you could do is shake their hand with your pinky, smile, and go on your own way, back to your living room to enjoy the greatest network on Earth... midget television.

Getting Huge 101

Let me try and pitch this educational program for you before you begin. The class is exactly what the title states, and the classroom is the inside of a dining hall, cafeteria, or wherever the hell you find yourself enjoying your dinner sized lunch and your buffet sized dinner. The professor is your bad judgement and instead of credits, we issue pounds. There is no final... but if there was, I would assume it would be similar to the final weigh in that occurs on "The Biggest Loser," only, you know how on that finale all the people are jumping for joy in their new tight bodies celebrating their thin revolution... well, it's quite the opposite for anyone taking this class. If you decide to major in this field, you'll probably die of heart disease at a young age, or worse, you will choke while trying to eat a big Philly cheese steak and things go to shit. Either way, you're honestly and permanently fucked.

If only I could take a glimpse into my ten year high school reunion. There is just something about the idea of a reunion that excites me. Sure, I won’t show up if I haven’t done anything cool and if my wife is ugly. But, in the slim chance that I am an important person and can roll up in a Bentley with my trophy woman, I will certainly be attending, not only to see how everyone turned out, but to show off my excellence. I will display doubt for that lifestyle and disregard it for now, for I am more interested in the reunion that happens sooner. It’s not an organized gathering or anything, it’s just every day life... but it’s the one year reunion... the option to enter into my former town and see who of my graduating class brought home some very special friends from college... those friends are called pounds.

I am a strong believer in the freshmen fifteen. I am completely aware that it does not happen to everyone, and I am happy and proud to say that it hasn’t hit me yet, and I don’t think it will due to my high walking mileage and all of the repulsive hill areas around campus. My ankles may fall off due to the difficulty of walking, but at least I’ll be fifteen pounds less than everyone else... just in my wheelchair. Now, I may not get to ride roller coasters or go up the stairs ever again (Shout out to my favorite lunch table, even though I wasn’t actually in your lunch...) but at least I avoided the freshmen fifteen. There is a large amount of prestige behind that and I am willing to do whatever it takes to uphold that image. I would have to guess the reason I have not gained this extra weight is because I don’t have too much food in the room, and the food I do have is consumed at times when I am unaware, so when sobriety comes knocking on my door, there is no food to answer... this is probably a good thing. I haven’t noticed anyone here who has obtained this extra poundage, but if I could have, I would’ve taken a picture of every student on day one and compared it to day one hundred... I am sure there would be plenty of differences. Maybe the freshmen fifteen doesn’t exist in a place like this? But I know that when I return home, I will see the poor victims of this terrible disease, and I will probably diagnose the people, too. Someone better duct tape my mouth shut.

The victims usually have more than the poundage in common, and no offense and no fear to my lady friends, but that similarity is usually a vagina. Past victims of this freshmen contagion seem to be mostly girls, and the sad thing is how noticeable it is. I have very observant friends and we talk about everything... this isn’t gossip, this is conversation. The reason it isn’t gossip is clear. Gossip usually leads to the wrongful spreading of rumors... gossip would be the case if we were talking about someone hooking up with someone in someone’s parents’ bathtub, but we aren’t talking about that magical event, we are talking about extra poundage... extra visible poundage. If the rumors are being spread, guess what? Your stomach is the source.

So, to my fellow college freshmen, I say good luck. And to those of you who do not have to walk up stupid hills all the time and don’t maintain a stable eating pattern, I wish you even more luck, but I also thank you for the entertainment. The next time you are in the pasta line and your friend is getting a salad, maybe you should rethink what you are about to do. The benefit of dinner lines here is that they are so long that I usually end up eating white rice from the Asian section. Sure, I may not gain fifteen pounds, but the chances of me making shoes in a factory or masturbating to rice paddies are extremely high, and that is much more frightening than a thick gut. But, if you don’t have to worry about all the Asian shit and you’re just getting fat, do me one of two favors, and only one. The first thing you can do is stop, and allow your body to regain its former shape and excellence, or you could do an even bigger favor, not so much to yourself, however, and keep eating the way that you are, for the move from a million person city in Southern California to a small river town in Minnesota is going to require additional entertainment, and I shall find that from the new bonus features of your stomach.

Guest Writer: Mr. James Fletcher

Erik asked me to be a guest writer on his blog, I accepted, thus I created this piece. I’m not sure whether it’s a good piece or bad one, so hard to judge completely opinionated journalistic work. Anyways, I’m supposed to tell you about myself. I’m 19 years old, I go to Rhodes College, it’s in Memphis Tennessee which grants me nightly lullabies of gang shootings and police sirens, oh, how I love college. Got it. Spark it. Exhale. Enjoi.

West of Fact and Laced with Curiosity

Okay, I admit this was all supposed to be about Kanye West. I’m sorry there is only so much I can write about the hip-hop world’s most pompous jackass. What will this sporadic post be about? I don’t know. I don’t succumb to the rookie pressure of my first blog post, yes I’m a blog virgin, bear with me.  But anyways, what I’m gonna concentrate on is Victoria’s Secret. Yes, the store every male almost shuffles by, whose beautiful-woman-clad windows converts men to window-shopping. First, how the hell can I find Victoria and thank her for the quickest way for guys to get an erection off of voluptuous lace and black silk! I mean, c’mon my girlfriend already showed what she bought from Victoria, and I have to admit the images I’ve produced have kept me pitching a tent all night. But away from late-night, risqué imaginations. Second, I’d like to know Victoria’s secret. That’s plausible to ask. Maybe I want to aspire to become a women’s lingerie designer. It’s a dream job not every man thinks about. What college degree would it take to get into that industry? Alas, I digress.

            What really strikes me hard about Victoria’s Secret(no pun intended), is how after all these years what the woman designs, if Victoria is a woman, never gets old. Not in a literal sense, sorry you few men whose Valentine’s day gifts never saw the light of day, but in that how can she keep the female body looking so god-damn and the male mind so completely dumbfounded. You would’ve thought by now that the guys would’ve figured out, “oh lingerie, it’s time for sex!” That is not the case ladies, far from it! Lingerie keeps the male mind stunned, probably the only time where the communication between the male membrane and his brain is completely shut off. Yes, ladies take that one to the bank. It’s completely true. When a guy sees his girlfriend in lingerie they don’t know what to do; it’s the hottest thing in the world. Personally, I’m not sure whether or not to superman-rip my clothes of or fall over and go into euphoric shock. I suppose every guy responds in the same way, unless you’re Kanye then you piss yourself while lace-clad hookers knock your shit dead then torch ya ass! I like to believe that Victoria understands how powerful the male imagination can be, a syndrome we’re stuck with, Kanye too. Victoria knows that as long as her lingerie keeps everything essential covered, she keeps everyone guessing, she could show you but she’s not gonna. She exposes a lot of the skin without giving away the goods. At the same time all the lingerie seems to just be barely hanging together, one slip of some string and voila! Unfortunately that’s never the case, the lingerie stays on, the secret is kept, and the men stay stunned.

            In short, sometimes in order to succeed you’ve got to keep the consumer, husband, wife, or reader, in this case, guessing. Wait minute…infatuations with white dykes? Giving a Taylor Swift a broadcasted bitchslap? Randomly hating on George W. Bush hate with Michael Meyers? Yes! I can include Mr. West! Cause really, who has any fucking clue what goes through that cats head. So I guess Victoria and Kanye do share similarities, at any given time their mystifying attributes will make you ponder. Antics and lace, ladies and gentlemen, rash antics and black lace, two things that always make you wonder when you see them. They catch that spark of curiosity and then ignite the entire mind, flames slowly burn out, and their person smolders for weeks inside your thoughts. Before you were just enjoying the day, simple thoughts went through your mind, then those clothes came off and that black lace bustier, with the frilly thong to match, appeared right in front of your eyes. Yup, you’re not thinking about your next batch of laundry, no sir, all that is on your mind is whether or not you’re about to get a lap dance followed by a sound happy ending. 

Video Killed the Radio Star

It was a popular song of the 80's, and fun fact of the day, it was the first video played on MTV, which aired on August 1st, 1981. I will admit now that I am certainly not an expert on MTV... I just know how to use wikipedia well. There are people who are atheists when it comes to wikipedia, but they are incorrect. It is a valuable resource for anyone and I use it as much as I can. I may go through life with information composed by people all over the world, and whether it's partially correct or not, I shall use it. So, I typed in MTV to learn about where it began and all that good stuff, because I happen to be a huge fan of the old MTV, although I am not familiar with the MTV people in the 80's enjoyed, I surely remember watching it growing up, against my father's wishes. I love music videos. I hate Snooki. Look where this wonderful channel has taken us... I fear it's only downhill from here.

According to my favorite website, the original purpose of MTV was to play music videos 24/7, and was called "Music Television." Those were the days. Now, you get a portion of a music video if you're lucky, and spend the rest of your time consuming shit, usually created by the brainless fools on The Real World and Jersey Shore, and unfortunate children who want to be "Made" into something they can't be, and now, we can all admire the bull shit that is "If you really knew me." I realize that show is all sentimental and supposed to be an important anchor for change, but to me, it's an hour of comedy while watching kids expose their feelings on cable television, as if it is going to make anything better. First of all, there goes your privacy. Second of all, nobody gives two shits. However, there is most definitely a group of people who sit around the TV and cry about how beautiful the show is and how they wish that everyone could experience that... Those people shame me.

The good old days of my lifetime would be when Real World and Road Rules owned. They had cool, original cast members, who made for a good television watching experience. But as of late, they have not brought out anyone who has stood out or made a difference with their celebrity statuses, maybe because they no longer achieve them. I think the dark ages started when people had to fantasize over a bunch of scripted lives in Southern California... Laguna Beach. Now, I know plenty of people who watched this show and still enjoy the DVD's, but as a protester of all this bull shit, I can't say I approve. Now that I am older than the characters were during filming, I must say, those people have helpless issues and should not be applauded for their stupidity and criminal humanity. They are not people to look up to or respect, so why do so many viewers give a shit? Were they waiting for something important to happen? Look no further... not happening.

Then that AMAZING spin-off came into existence, and I don't care if you liked "The Hills," because it is stupid and you wasted your fucking time. If you disagree with me, you're wrong. When it comes to television and film, I will trump you, so don't even fucking try. I know what a good television series is, and it's not going to be found in the lives of Laguna Beach cast members trying to make their lives, which are also scripted. I've said this before and I will say it again... If anyone deserves to be killed on this planet, it's Spencer Pratt or his dumb ex-wife Heidi. The fact that people care about these individuals makes me sick and worry about the future of our generation. Check out something legitimate please, and trust me, it's not on MTV... not anymore. Those days are long gone.

So, I realize since I am writing to mostly teenagers and college students, and I am sure many of you will have a problem with my strong disliking for shit programming, but I like to spend my time watching thought-provoking series and films that matter. I think it's sad how much time and energy people waste on people who aren't going to mean anything to this world in a few months, and for most of them, that is already the case. We live in a world where the American Film Institute and National Board of Review and the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences recognize films most people haven't heard of. And in television terms, there is the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences, and recognizing these shitty MTV programs has not occurred much in this decade, because there is nothing good to recognize. It's all shit. This is me hoping that MTV will return to what it stands for... Music. So let's all do the logical thing and cut Snooki's head off, and start playing some good videos and get back to the way things should be. I'd easily give an Emmy out to a show where that short bitch's head gets cut off.

Secondhand Offense

Second hand smoke used to be a big concern in Minnesota, and enough campaigns and supporters led to the removal of smoking sections in public places, like restaurants and bars... you get it. Apparently it was more lethal than actually smoking, which I never fully understood, but then again, I am no expert in the effects of smoking a cigarette. But I am not going to make a stand for second hand smoke, because it causes people to die and go to heaven, which is a tragic thing, so there is no way I would ever raise my hand in support for the situation. What I am going to get into is how much I hate white people who get offended by shit that isn't about them all because they think they are kind people who have to stick up for everybody, which is certainly not the case. I am talking about second hand offense.

It usually takes place with white women, for white men tend to keep their mouths shut about this shit, or they are all racist. I hate when I say something slightly vulgar or blog about something that is politically incorrect and terrifying, and some white bitch has to complain about how they are offended. White people do not have the right to be offended. It's bad taste. So, the next time I am complaining about the Great Wall of China to some white folks, I hope that they will take what I have to say and absorb it if they enjoy it, or ignore it if they don't. Fucking white people. I do realize I am a part of the white race, and I love the white race very much. Not only do I have a slightly better chance of getting out of tickets, 3rd only to white women with great tits, and people en route to the hospital to deliver a baby. I also love that I can get away with murder and arson and all that other good shit that non-whites get executed for, but I am only joking when I say that... And if you think that I'm not, please, do me a favor, close the window and get back to your jerk off session on your interracial porn, you unrightfully offended bastard.

Today's Saturday post is a replacement to my missed Thursday and Friday posts. Thursday was a busy day of class and the arrival of a good friend from LA who, on Friday, I went skydiving with. That life altering excursion is the reason for my absence yesterday. I am completely aware that viewership on weekends is low, but if you see this post, congratulations, and thanks for digging back in the archives for something classic. I will continue my posting on Monday, and will provide as many posts as I can throughout the week, for my favorite friend and twin criminal will be arriving in the Golden State on Wednesday, which will kick off the episodes of drunken antics and accidental occurrences that will provide for great blog posts and entertaining campfire stories. So, when you read of some kids jumping into a fire one night, it's probably because my shockingly awful stories caused my children to act out the only way they could. With that said, I shall continue with my lecture on bull shit offense...

Why is there a class of white people who think that they can change the world with their disliking for offensive comments? That ridiculous group of people usually consists of the most judgmental crackers who have ever roamed the Earth. They try to take offensive comments and turn them into lessons for the entire world... though they are lessons that nobody needs to learn. Most of the offensive comments I say are indirect, and not to mention, sardonic. I am a cynical person and the statements that exit my mouth oftentimes are loaded and inappropriate. If I didn't talk that way, I wouldn't be the person that everyone knows. I would be committing identity fraud and wouldn't be representing the kind hearted Minnesotan that I grew up to be. I am kind, and if you disagree, let me tell you, there will be a special group of white people who will take offense to that on my behalf, but I will not. And to the people who are taking it on my behalf, stay the fuck out of it, for it does not concern you, and you don't need to worry about it. I think I could take all racist and unorthodox jokes and put them in a container, and leave them alone for a while, because the group I wish I could attack the most would be the whites and their superficial existences and their high beliefs in themselves. Most whites are not like this, but the ones that are misrepresent a very significant, hard working group of people. Holla to my white friends. And, since I said holla, I suppose holla to the blacks as well.

So, the next time you're sitting in a group of people, and somebody drops a Helen Keller joke or a Jew joke or hell, an Asian joke, and nobody in the circle is blind, deaf, Jewish, or Asian, then go ahead and laugh, because none of you have the right to be pissed off by it. If you're some crippled Holocaust survivor, and somebody makes a pro-Nazi statement, you go ahead and beat them with your cane or run them over with your wheelchair. But if you're some twenty year old blonde bitch who has never seen Schindler's List, you don't have the right to be mad. Of course, there will always be people who get offended by statements. You've got the Rutgers basketball team who Don Imus referred to as nappy headed hoes on a radio show... now, that calls for offense, because it was direct and it wasn't very nice. But there were more white people offended by that than anyone else. So, to the people in my race who try to stick up for everybody, I suggest you give it up, because soon enough, you may be a minority, and all the brown, black, purple, green, and yellow people will be cracking jokes at you, and guess what, nobody's going to tell them to stop.

Parachuting Babies

There I was, row 30-something, thinking about how long of a journey it would be to exit the fucking plane in four hours, awkwardly positioned in my seat as to not bump the jerk off next to me, who didn't feel the same consideration toward me, so my left rib is now very much acquainted with the prick's elbow... I saw more people coming down the narrow aisle from the entrance of the airplane, making their way to their seats, taking their sweet fucking time to put away their unattractive flowered carry on bags, and take their seats like we were at a movie theater... making our time become later than it should have been. I saw a young woman with her baby board the plane, and if you recall from a previous post, my plan is to conceive five children (with my wife, the others I don't plan on actually meeting...) and I know I will probably love them when they exist, but since I am nineteen now, the idea of a little baby makes me want to put a knife down my throat and my hand in the garbage disposal. The woman was passing rows up, making me very nervous as to who would occupy the aisle seat directly across from me. I prayed, to whoever was listening to me, that this woman would find refuge in a seat much further up from where I was.

Well, since karma is a bitch(?), and I deserve this unfortunate pain, the formerly impregnated broad sat right where I didn't want her to, and the little baby girl was propped up on her lap. Some people in the surrounding seats were killing themselves over this precious little child, with these annoying gushy eyes and stares that I didn't feel I was getting, and I was much more interesting than this drooling mess of life. And even if that isn't true, which we all know it is not, it was still rather fucking annoying. Maybe I just don't have the appreciation for this new life that this woman and some guy who drinks a lot now created once upon a time... And the dad wasn't there. But, just to deny your suspicions, they were white. He must be busy. It's not like he left or anything. So, there I was, watching this woman and her baby... her quiet baby... at the moment.

A woman in a nearby seat asked how old the baby was. The "mom" responded, 14 or 15 months. Okay, I have met many new mothers and heard them rant about how precious their fucking offspring is, and, most times, they have their age to an exact minute... but this bitch has certainly made me consider that she may be a kidnapper, because not knowing the age of your baby makes you look like a very inattentive parent, not that it even matters, but that will probably lead to your young daughter's early fascination with cock, and in a short sixteen years, you will be observing her with a little baby, and you will know exactly how I felt on October 5th, examining you and your little fucking sperm creation bouncing on your damn lap. Then the baby started crying, screaming, laughing... like she was watching some fucking television series that I had no interest in viewing. I figured the little twit would cry when we took off, and I would respect it, but no, this one had to have her soap opera moment the entire fucking plane ride... which got me thinking...

Wouldn't it be a beautiful invention to create parachutes for babies? I mean, we're sitting there on the flight, surrounded by people who we don't know, trying to listen to our iPods, but we just can't, and the whole time we have to deal with the caffeinated flight attendants whose smiles make me want to jump with the babies, only my parachute doesn't exist. So, picture that, you're trying to relax on this already nerve-wracking moment, looking out for Islam extremists, getting ready to tackle any terrorist in sight, and there's a fucking baby in your area, expressing their feelings through loud awful moans and tears. Strap them up to their parachute, and drop them down to their destination below. Not only will we not have to hear them cry, but they will get a nice adrenaline experience on their flight down. As Lisa Lampanelli once said, "I'll give you something to cry about."

So, now you think I am some sadistic baby killer. I'm not, if you were wondering, but babies certainly provide the perfect amount of birth control to people. Sometimes, if the moment is right, or wrong, I suppose, this situation can make an ultra-conservative go gung-ho for abortion. Babies are cute and all, to specific people, and today, with a few hours of sleep and a small amount of anxiety, I was not in the mood for some cry baby bitch trying to communicate with their god awful sounds. Maybe babies are the perfect example of the difficulties of communication... like speaking to a Mexican who doesn't know English, and I am certainly fucked for the lack of attention I gave to my Spanish classes in high school. But, I realize, I once was that annoying little baby, pissing off emo-teenagers and old businessmen who never really gave a fuck about their children, and then I try to relax a bit and be more understanding of the whole thing, for now I am a nineteen year old with just a knife in my throat and one hand in the garbage disposal.