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I hate when people speak to their kids in baby talk. It’s annoying. Then people wonder why their kids turn out to be mental midgets with no social grace and an inability to function in the real world. It’s because when they were young the dipshit parents were saying, “Ohh, did you make a poopsy whoopsy?” or “We yum yum cum cum in our tum tum.” I want to walk over to those people, backhand them, take their babies away, and say, “You are an asshole. You do not deserve that baby.” And then I will walk away, baby under my arm, and I’ll go down to the river, down to the river we ride, and I’ll yell to the bushes, “Hey, junkies! Who wants a baby? I’ll give you $20 to take this baby.” I’ll stand there until all the eager junkies get into a single-file line and I will inspect them one by one until I find the absolute most shot-out one and I will say, “You. You will teach this baby the ways of this world.” And I’ll hand the child off to the fiend. He’ll ask where his $20 is and I’ll say, “Do you have change for a hundred? No? Then I’ll have to owe you.” I’ll turn my back and leave that child to be spoken to like an adult, to learn how to make it in this cold world without any care about a load of “poopsy whoopsy” in its dungarees. Maybe the junkie will teach the baby the difference between its inside voice and its outside voice. I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t care if the only thing the baby learns is which is its best vein, it’ll still be better off than being raised by the type of animals that use baby talk on kids.
When my nephew was one and a half I taught him how to make a good cup of coffee. Every morning at my mother’s house I’d talk out, step by step, how much water and grounds were needed to make the type of rocket fuel I need at 6 AM. He’s 7 now and has never made me a cup of coffee but it doesn’t matter because somewhere deep in his psyche the information is stored away, and one day when he moves off and gets his own apartment he will instinctively know how to make a cup of coffee superior to that of any shit, overpriced coffee franchise. Hell, he might even start his own coffee conglomerate as a result.
As the due date of September 11 for our new baby boy approaches, I find myself not just doodling funny birthday-cake designs of storks flying into the Twin Towers but also making a list of initial introductory lessons/conversations I plan on having with this kid such as: never pay for sex twice (the second time means you’re dating), always snort your pills, there is no way to learn to play the guitar in seven days (it’s just not possible), hippies and their stupid music will always suck and be a cause for anger, you can really save a lot of money cutting coupons, don’t mix your booze, and lastly, if you want, if you work hard, you can be the White Obama. The future is wide open. And I will impart all of this to him in as normal a voice as I am speaking to you with right now.