Monday, December 31, 2012

// //

"Don't Talk To Me About Childbirth, I'll Muhfuckin' Embarrass You"

God dammit. I didn't want to talk about it, but I'm fascinated with this unborn child that potentially doesn't exist.

As much as we hate to admit it, this baby represents modern America. With all of the reality TV we watch, gossip mags we read, and garbage that we consume, we as a country earned this baby. A baby so screwed that I have mixed emotions even talking about it. This thing will be the crack-baby of opulence. Addicted to clothing brands my poor-people eyes can't even process, baby food imported from New Zealand, and most of all its name. Everyone is throwing out suspicions of cocky ass gender ambiguous names like "Kanye II" and assorted symbols like: "$" and "}", but I think they're going to mess with all of us and name it something like "Matt" or "Jennifer."

London had the "Royal Wedding" and we're going to have, "What Are They Going To Name This Poor/Rich Bastard." I call this baby poor because there is no fate worse than stumbling on a video of your mother having sex with a man named Ray-J that had his own two-season reality show on VH1. Nothing worse than that. And parents that will routinely forget what your name is because they will stop caring about you in like 3 weeks.

This made me think about the inevitable day that I produce some offspring. What if they find out about WMD? I think my only option is to leave a bag of money in the house and flee the country because if this shit is embarrassing now, imagine what it'll be like in 30 years. Can't have my kids responding to "Wash the dishes" with "Yeah, right....Dub Jeezy. Pfft."

I'm worried for you K-baby, but not really.


0 Reactions to this post

Add Comment

Post a Comment