As I continue to ride my ever-increasing tidal wave of fame, both on the internet and with real people, you, as a fan of me, might find the occasion to say to yourself, "wow, a guy that handsome, rich, popular and famous probably gets asked to do lots of really important stuff for other people." While I will be the first person to announce my intense appreciation for that wonderful sentiment, I'll also be the first person to publicly proclaim that it is approximately 103% incorrect. You see, despite the fact that I am known around the world, what I am most notable for is being completely inept to the point of retardation and anyone who has half a brain realizes that it would be stupid of them to ask me to do anything that involved responsibility.
Still, as sure as it rains in the desert on occasion, there does come a time every now and again when I am asked for my assistance in matters of relative importance. I don't really think that this has as much to do with me as it does that they are probably extremely desperate or that I now have a wife and kid of my own, which somehow makes me more grounded and less retarded. It doesn't. If Maury Povich taught me anything, it's that, for many people, getting married and having children is less about magic and miracles and more about an abstract failure of the natural selection process. It certainly doesn't qualify anyone to proclaim that they are any less worthless on their life resume. I'm certainly no exception to this rule. I haven't discovered a true, scientific method to accurately measure how retarded I am but I'm fairly certain that that amount has increased exponentially since my daughter was brought into this world.
And yet, despite all this, matters of importance still seem to fall into my lap. This past weekend, for example, I was asked to assist in babysitting a small child overnight. This is a large step up from what I had been previously asked to do, which only involved house-sitting some cats for a few days. Sure, both the cats and I survived the ordeal but not without some emotional trauma. Both parties have agreed to never discuss what transpired and to this day it's still difficult to look each other in the eyes. Besides, surviving a cat fiasco is one thing but taking care of something 23% more important, such as someone's baby or a 30-pack of beer, is another matter entirely. Babies are a lot of work and they don't have fur to easily hide the bruises like cats do. I mean, I guess you could liken babysitting children to being similar to watching someone's pet for the evening except that tales of how the pet got mutilated in the garbage disposal still make for funny dinner time conversation while the same cannot be said about children.
Honestly, though, I suppose I should just come out and be level with everyone. You see, I'm not much of a baby person. They don't like me and I don't particularly care for them. Most of them are smarter than me and I can't say that I really appreciate being looked down upon, especially from someone who shits themselves and has no teeth. (Lookin' at you, Grandma.) "But Randy, you have your own child now. Surely that has changed your outlook on things." No, it hasn't. In fact, I frequently employ the parenting technique of "completely ignoring my baby" in the hopes that she'll get fed up of the mistreatment and move out before she's two. Only time will tell whether that strategy really works but so far, so good. I saw her packing up some toys in a bag yesterday so I can only hope that she's close to a decision. Perhaps I'll start throwing in an angry scowl or two in her direction to help fan the flames. Honestly, whatever works I'm willing to try, as long as whatever works doesn't involve being responsible.
Of course, mistreating your own kid as a vehicle to better serve your own self-interest is one thing but dealing with the offspring of someone else is another matter entirely. These people come in with expectation that you are actually going to take care of their child and not simply leave them alone in the kitchen to play with the chemicals under the sink. (For the record, no one explicitly told me that I wasn't allowed to do this but I will neither confirm nor deny that I employed this tactic.) I'm not going to say that there is anything wrong with having those expectations but when you're dealing with me, that's setting the bar a little high, don't you think? Wouldn't you rather aim low and be pleasantly surprised than to expect the world and be crushed at the results?
I mean, you show up at my door with a diaper bag full of milk, clothes and other survival crap along with a novel full of instructions and expect that I am somehow going to be able to comprehend everything that you're saying and not use all the milk for the world's largest bowl of cereal. Then, when you come and pick up your baby, you act like it's somehow my fault that your baby is hungry and didn't understand the phase "fend for yourself." Honestly, you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you'd have just dropped the baby off with a note that says "please don't leave this infant in a ditch" and then when you came to do the pick-up and found that your baby was inside and not in a ditch, you would be pleasantly surprised and relieved at the results. Just think of all the time you would have saved by not having to pack and unpack all that crap in the first place. But hey, it's your emotional roller coaster. I'm just trying to offer you some suggestions on how to make the ride smoother.
With all that said, most of the trouble with watching a child that is not yours stems from the fact that the child is not yours. You see, while the law clearly states what I can and cannot do with my own child -- a lot of which I choose to ignore -- it gets a little gray when describing what you can and cannot do with children whose care has been entrusted to you. I'm smart enough to realize that selling my own child to a roving band of gypsies would be a huge no-no but what precisely are my rights with your child under the "finders keepers" rule of law? This decision is made all the more difficult when you factor in that gypsies aren't very picky about source material and they don't ask a lot of questions. You want to talk about tempting. Do you know how many candy bars I could buy with the money earned from a baby sale? At least three, I'd wager.
I guess the bottom line here is that I realize you love your child very much and as a parent myself, I know how difficult it can be to put your trust in someone else to do right for your child. The point I am trying to make with all this is that I am a large reason why that choice can be so difficult. It's not that I don't care about your baby, it's that I like alcohol and free time more and until your baby can spend her free time getting me alcohol, we won't have a whole lot in common. But hey, if you've read all this, had a nice laugh and chose not to let any of it sink in, then perhaps we ought to re-evaluate who exactly is the retarded one here.
P.S. I'm free on the 27th for some child watching.
Still, as sure as it rains in the desert on occasion, there does come a time every now and again when I am asked for my assistance in matters of relative importance. I don't really think that this has as much to do with me as it does that they are probably extremely desperate or that I now have a wife and kid of my own, which somehow makes me more grounded and less retarded. It doesn't. If Maury Povich taught me anything, it's that, for many people, getting married and having children is less about magic and miracles and more about an abstract failure of the natural selection process. It certainly doesn't qualify anyone to proclaim that they are any less worthless on their life resume. I'm certainly no exception to this rule. I haven't discovered a true, scientific method to accurately measure how retarded I am but I'm fairly certain that that amount has increased exponentially since my daughter was brought into this world.
And yet, despite all this, matters of importance still seem to fall into my lap. This past weekend, for example, I was asked to assist in babysitting a small child overnight. This is a large step up from what I had been previously asked to do, which only involved house-sitting some cats for a few days. Sure, both the cats and I survived the ordeal but not without some emotional trauma. Both parties have agreed to never discuss what transpired and to this day it's still difficult to look each other in the eyes. Besides, surviving a cat fiasco is one thing but taking care of something 23% more important, such as someone's baby or a 30-pack of beer, is another matter entirely. Babies are a lot of work and they don't have fur to easily hide the bruises like cats do. I mean, I guess you could liken babysitting children to being similar to watching someone's pet for the evening except that tales of how the pet got mutilated in the garbage disposal still make for funny dinner time conversation while the same cannot be said about children.
Honestly, though, I suppose I should just come out and be level with everyone. You see, I'm not much of a baby person. They don't like me and I don't particularly care for them. Most of them are smarter than me and I can't say that I really appreciate being looked down upon, especially from someone who shits themselves and has no teeth. (Lookin' at you, Grandma.) "But Randy, you have your own child now. Surely that has changed your outlook on things." No, it hasn't. In fact, I frequently employ the parenting technique of "completely ignoring my baby" in the hopes that she'll get fed up of the mistreatment and move out before she's two. Only time will tell whether that strategy really works but so far, so good. I saw her packing up some toys in a bag yesterday so I can only hope that she's close to a decision. Perhaps I'll start throwing in an angry scowl or two in her direction to help fan the flames. Honestly, whatever works I'm willing to try, as long as whatever works doesn't involve being responsible.
Of course, mistreating your own kid as a vehicle to better serve your own self-interest is one thing but dealing with the offspring of someone else is another matter entirely. These people come in with expectation that you are actually going to take care of their child and not simply leave them alone in the kitchen to play with the chemicals under the sink. (For the record, no one explicitly told me that I wasn't allowed to do this but I will neither confirm nor deny that I employed this tactic.) I'm not going to say that there is anything wrong with having those expectations but when you're dealing with me, that's setting the bar a little high, don't you think? Wouldn't you rather aim low and be pleasantly surprised than to expect the world and be crushed at the results?
I mean, you show up at my door with a diaper bag full of milk, clothes and other survival crap along with a novel full of instructions and expect that I am somehow going to be able to comprehend everything that you're saying and not use all the milk for the world's largest bowl of cereal. Then, when you come and pick up your baby, you act like it's somehow my fault that your baby is hungry and didn't understand the phase "fend for yourself." Honestly, you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you'd have just dropped the baby off with a note that says "please don't leave this infant in a ditch" and then when you came to do the pick-up and found that your baby was inside and not in a ditch, you would be pleasantly surprised and relieved at the results. Just think of all the time you would have saved by not having to pack and unpack all that crap in the first place. But hey, it's your emotional roller coaster. I'm just trying to offer you some suggestions on how to make the ride smoother.
With all that said, most of the trouble with watching a child that is not yours stems from the fact that the child is not yours. You see, while the law clearly states what I can and cannot do with my own child -- a lot of which I choose to ignore -- it gets a little gray when describing what you can and cannot do with children whose care has been entrusted to you. I'm smart enough to realize that selling my own child to a roving band of gypsies would be a huge no-no but what precisely are my rights with your child under the "finders keepers" rule of law? This decision is made all the more difficult when you factor in that gypsies aren't very picky about source material and they don't ask a lot of questions. You want to talk about tempting. Do you know how many candy bars I could buy with the money earned from a baby sale? At least three, I'd wager.
I guess the bottom line here is that I realize you love your child very much and as a parent myself, I know how difficult it can be to put your trust in someone else to do right for your child. The point I am trying to make with all this is that I am a large reason why that choice can be so difficult. It's not that I don't care about your baby, it's that I like alcohol and free time more and until your baby can spend her free time getting me alcohol, we won't have a whole lot in common. But hey, if you've read all this, had a nice laugh and chose not to let any of it sink in, then perhaps we ought to re-evaluate who exactly is the retarded one here.
P.S. I'm free on the 27th for some child watching.