Dealing With Babies, Baby

It’s unavoidable that people will have babies. If they didn’t there would be no diaper industry — and a lot of people would have to find a new way to get their rocks off. But there’s something involving those drooling, babbling beings that should be easy to avoid but isn’t: co-workers bringing their excretions to work and thinking you give a god damn about their crawling, stanky-draw’d midgy-tards.

First off, you had sex. Talvid gets it. You don’t see me bringing my used jimmy hoods to work and going over to everyone’s desk, snapping it against their shoulder, and doing the Pee-Wee Herman dance while flicking my tongue provocatively after I had sex. So why do people bring in their babies? Duh.

To prove my point, join me, if you will (and you know you will [cuz I just flicked my tongue at you like a sexy cobra]), in a simple thought experiment. Babies are family members. So, unless you’re racist, you have to admit that it would be okay for me to treat a different family member like some people treat their babies. So how would new parents like it if I paraded my uncle Arnie around like they showcased their bubbelehs? [My uncle Arnie is a 314 LB 57-year-old with severe halitosis, irritiable bowel syndrome, and a pawnshaw’ for inappropriate touching.]

Would you like it if I asked if you wanted to hold Uncle Arnie? Would you be interested if I told you he was a good sleeper and an even better eater? How would you feel if I carried Uncle Arnie over to your desk, jammed his slobbering punnim in your face and expected that you remark on his cuteness? Unless you’re from the Republic of Pervistan, my guess is you’d wish I’d kept Uncle Arnie at home.

That’s logic. And it’s impossible for logic to be wrong.

So next time someone jams a Verne Troyer wannabe in your office space, shit yourself, let saliva roll down your chin, and start spasming on the floor. Why? Like the good book said: Ass, gas, or grass no one rides for free — and my tuchus is off-limits, fossil fuels cause global warming, and soft psychedelics are for sissies.

The rest is up to you.


Tags: , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: