My Mother's reasons why I shouldn't procreate

My mother, for all intents and purposes, has to be the most honest and trustwortrhy person that I have ever known. When she told me that my mere existence was based on a lie, the only reason why I'm on this earth at all, ritualistically failing to bring women to climax and pissing off members of the clergy whenever possible, was because my father mislead her by saying that he had a vasectomy and even paid a navy doctor to back-up his bullshit. I get the sneaking suspicion that she's telling the truth there. Whenever I have conned my way into some unsuspecting woman's heart, believe it or not there are ladies out there that find pre-ejaculation and me leaving money on dressers after sex funny, as soon as my mother meets these doomed souls she goes out of her way to tell these young lady's that I was not only a "titty baby" but that I had a penchant for sleep walking and taking R Kelly-esque pisses in closets. I can't find any smoking gun evidence proving those claims, but based on the fact that I throw punches in my sleep and have told a few women directly in their faces that making love to their sweet bosom's was a clear upgrade from thrusting inside their vagina's, I don't think my mother is bullshitting there either. Even though she claims she's joking, every time that she says that I'm her one child most likely to go on a killing spree, plot to assassinate an elected official, perish in a hail of gunfire while clutching a bazooka, infiltrate and bring down a drug ring simply because I had nothing better to do, and the one most likely to have a nasty Jim Brown habit of tossing women off of balcony's in my later years, I can clearly see the seriousness behind her comedic rant.

But there is one claim that she's been making for the longest time, similar to every time that "heart attack waiting to happen" Dick Cheney opens his mouth, that just seems like a blatant lie whenever those particular syllables pass through her mandible. Those words are "I don't want any fucking grand-kids!!" For the longest time I believed her, telling me that she had no plans to watch my crumb-snatchers as I nervously penetrated women of ill repute while I nervously clutched a rosary so I wouldn't catch a disease that I'd carry around with me like a palm pilot, I had no reason to think that she was lying. That was until I saw how she was with strangers' babies, her face lighting up like she was raised around a fucking nuclear power plant or some shit, with more child-like baby talk coming out of her pie hoe than a punch-drunk boxer a decade after his prime, I don't think that she really rejected the idea of having grand-kids at all. Actually, I think that she rejects the fact of ME having kids specifically, and after a couple of days mulling it over in my head I think I have figured out a few reasons why.

I had no idea drugging a kid was wrong: A few months ago I was hanging with my old college friend, his wife, and his wife's sister that I wanted to unflinchingly invade without any rhyme or reason like Iraq, over their particular place of residence as we played cards and drank. The one downfall about being known as the "funny friend" is that people keep expecting you to perform a prat fall, spew out a stand-up routine, or throw a pie in a referee's face like I'm a fucking member of the Harlem Globetrotters or some shit, so anything less makes you feel like you just took a healthy bowel movement in someones frosted flakes. As we played cards, drank, and as the young woman that I was talking to laughed hysterically as if me saying "I want to fuck your throat!" was meant to be some sort of joke, my home-boy's child kept popping up out of nowhere, claiming that he couldn't sleep. I love kids, for the most part, but after 5 visits with him rubbing his eyes, playing the innocent bastard shtick for all its worth, and claiming that he "couldn't sleep", I immediately thought that that little son of a bitch needed some new material, or at least a ghostwriter. I'll give it to my friends though, they are great parents, because with each new appearance of the little fellow they acted the same way each time, stern but lovingly telling their young one to get back to sleep.

I guess because I suffer from a form of turrets that only assholes suffer from, my mother calls it verbal diarrhea, I said "Have you tried getting some chloroform, putting it in a handkerchief, and putting it over his face until he falls asleep. That's what I'd do!" At least 20 seconds passed as my friend, his wife, and his wife's sister who I had offered to become intimately acquainted with her larynx looked at me as if I had just masturbated on their domesticated animal or something. Then, out of nowhere they all started laughing hysterically because they thought I was joking, so I obviously started laughing as well to mask the fact that I'm apparently a monster.

My answer for everything is a beating: Coming from someone who had to endure years of verbal abuse, so much in fact that I think its specifically attributed to my overall anger issues and my emotionally unavailability during relationships, I would never abuse my child in any way. That being said, I am a strong believer in spankings, so much in fact that if I ever ran for public office I would run on a "Be sure to beat your child's ass if they fuck up" platform and shit. Sure, there are many experts out there who abhor my firm belief in making a hand-print on a child's backside, they will tell you that there are less violent tactics such as "talking it out" and the classic "time-out". Not for nothing, especially coming from a guy that has seen violence work in a plethora of situations, the only "talking" I'd be doing would be the berating of the "didn't I tell you to not to go outside" variety I'd be doing mid-spank, and the only "time-out" that would be involved would be me taking a brief break because I'm sure that disciplining a child can be quite the taxing endeavor. But seriously, I don't know how I'd react to my disobedient child, but based on the fact that I can be found saying "Oh yeah, he needs his ass beaten!" whenever I see a child acting up in public, or one of my friends unruly crumb-snatchers, I kind of get an idea what kind of father I will be.

I'm not wasting my day watching sponge-bob: Maybe this is a bad thing to admit, but when it comes to infecting some woman with my demon seed and producing a kid in my spitting image that has a penchant for writing and violence, I honestly think that I'm too selfish at this point. I mean, when I go over my married friends' house and they have given up their television to the likes of Sponge-bog and Dora the explorer, I always secretly applaud their unflinching love for their child. Granted, letting your kid watch whatever he/she wanted isn't the equivalent of donating a kidney or anything, but I for one couldn't sit through 30 minutes of children programming without putting a loaded shotgun in my mouth and pulling the trigger with my motherfucking toes. I might have a spoiled kid, having a state of the art movie theater in his room accustomed with surround sound and DVD player, but I'd do anything so that little bastard could watch that shit in his own room.


My kid would think his name was "Go sit the fuck down somewhere!": Listen, I'm not saying that I'd say those particular words to my future seed, but based on that being my favorite response whenever I'm confronted with a drunk at a bar, a hyperactive child of a friend that wants me to play with them, or some disgruntled lover who doesn't feel like a couple of twists to her nipples and a peck on her cheek is significant foreplay, I feel that my child will more than likely hear the same thing.