THe FReCKLeD FINGeR

    Another year gone and another Sci-Fi Channel's 'Night of the Living Dead' marathon to commemorate Jesus rising from the dead is in the books.  My parents went off to Mass this morning to pay money in order to pray while I figured it would be in my best interest to make them breakfast, considering I live at home and they don't charge me rent.  Things were going great until my mother reveals to me the wonderful story of how the doctor advised that she not keep the baby when she was pregnant with me... ooooh the regret in her eyes.

    Anyway, I've come to the conclusion that celebrating Easter, the commercial part of it (you know, all of the eggs and bunnies and bullshit)- yea, I think that makes people dumb, especially the kids.  I had the always delightful chore of visiting friends and relatives today, all of  whom have small children and or toddlers, and unfortunately, they do the the whole Easter scene.  Hiding eggs.  Dying eggs.  Eating deviled eggs.  Watching commercials about Cadbury Eggs.  Enough with the g-dammned eggs.  That actually doesn't bother me so much.  No, it is more of the part when it's baby watching time.  Most of you won't know what I mean by that, but let me explain it...

'Mmm, that was a delicious meal Mrs. Smith.  Sure.  I'll have some tea.  Splenda please.'

    OK, so everyone is now sitting in the living room with their teas and coffees watching a single or multiple kids, usually under 3.  So the arena is set, we have completed our adult human circle - commence the waddling around looking for eggs and sticking them or various foreign objects in their mouth.  And I am supposed to look amused and exciting to host one of these cult events one day... if someone sleeps with me. If you don't look amused, god help ya.  OK, I get it.  Its a baby.  Walks around like a drunk guy then falls.  So cute, right?  But why do we have to treat and talk to this mini-human like they are handicapped?

 'Uh Oh!  Missy fall down?'

'Missy... Where eggs?'

'Doo-dee?  Missy do a doo-dee?'

'Missy?  U find da tandy?!?'

'Sooooooo big!!!'

'Where poppy?  Missy... where poppy?' 

'Give kisses!'

    (Missy, of course, is a fake name used to escape immediately repercussions from the family and child I am actually speaking about)

    I know everyone is thinking, 1.) 'why doesn't he just have the rash looked at by a doctor' and 2.) 'its just baby-talk, that's how every parent talks to their kid'.  Well I do not condone this type of behavior.  It is the reason all of the ITT Techs and Chubbs Institutes and Gibbs exist in the country - these multiple years of mental retardation training.  Baby's heads are like little soft-shelled sponges... they soak up everything.  You treat them like idiots, they are going to be idiots.

    Well, now that all 13 people that have read this think I am going to be a horrid father one day, maybe?  Hey, maybe I will be... but after I adopt an 18 year old, we won't have this problem, now will we?  Who is the asshole now? 

I make some f*ckin' delicious sausage links.