I like kids. Just not yours. They annoy me. They are loud, ill-mannered, inbred little shits. You are so proud of them, yet you let them run rampant, screaming, arms a-flailing, and legs a-kicking. I would smack your child repeatedly downside the head with a bag of musk melon if I wouldn't be arrested or shunned by society for it. And yes, I said downside.
I also don't like other people's kids. That goes for the children of your friends, my friends, coworkers, casual acquaintances, anyone I've ever seen on tv, or farted toward.
Additionally, I wouldn't like my own kids. They would require time and financial resources that I am not willing to commit. I just couldn't be there emotionally for them, either. I'm only capable of loving a hot chick or possibly an adorable kitten. And while I wouldn't like my kids, I would probably feel kind of bad about emotionally scarring them through openly telling them I don't love them, pushing them away when they wanted a hug or "upsies," and refusing to feed them anything more elaborate than a bioengineered vitamin-rich mush that sells in 5 gallon pails at Sam's Club for $3.75. And much like your children, I most definitely would not beat them. But I would want to.
Other than that, I like kids.
5 comments (leave yours):
This is probably the most honest thing you've ever written.
Totally! I figure this one is about 4% more honest than my "I can't say I much care for sexual intercourse" posting from a few years ago.
I personally think the most honest posting that you have had was the one about the homeless guys being depressing. By the way, in your small list of possible loves, I noticed you left out Roomba. Has this relationship started to sour? That would be too bad, I really was holding out hope for the two of you. I thought that this was a relationship that you could finally handle. :)
Ya know this just confirms my theory. Flash forward 30 years, Jeremy is sitting on his front porch with a cane, in a rocking chair, petting the kitten in his lap. Two kids going running over his yard, Jeremy starts yelling about poo at them while shaking his cane at them and I don't mean his walking stick. He has finished his transformation into the crazy old cat man of the cul-de-sac.
Willie, I was eagerly anticipating your response. Roomba and I have cooled things off to a "friends with benefits" type of thing. It got mad when I clogged it's air exhaust with man spackle.
As for yelling at kids, I already do that. Though it's not so much yelling as chastising them for ignoring the, "Warning: dangerous chemicals. Keep children and pets off lawn" signs after my lawn care service sprays my grass with military grade poisons. I was initially deeply concerned that they go home and wash their hands so they wouldn't get sick. Then I realized that at age 11, if you are literally rolling around in the grass 2 feet from a poisonous chemical warning sign, that smacks of Darwinism. Survival of the fittest, kid. Enjoy your cancer.
And I wouldn't yell about poo. I'd throw actual poo at them. Probably cat poo mixed with some of my own. The ratio would be left open to my mood.
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