Keep me out of you.



R.I.P. Gaddafi

 Now that Tanzania is freed and I can talk about myself...

My kid(s) is(are) fucked.  That statement is based solely on the off chance that at some point, a female would deem me a suitable mate and let me awkwardly bury an ample amount of seed in her twat and let me help raise whatever pops out in 9 months time.  An unlikely idea, but perhaps slightly plausible.  If the god of wine decides that I am fit to carry on my dego name, then I may or may not have a spawn that will be completely screwed, thanks to me and this stale, calloused world.

I think it's safe to say that , first off, I'm not quite equipped with Adonis DNA.  We can rule out Atlas or Hercules coming from my cock.  I'm not saying that I'm going to produce a breathing colostomy bag, but unless I get the spawn practicing at something at an early age, his(fuck a daughter) tiny body won't be useful for much outside of wrestling, and look at how my career in that took off.  I say "tiny" because, as much as I like the odds, there is no way I'm going to produce a kid who gets much taller than me.  In order for that to be even remotely possible, I'd have to fufill my dream of wedding a tall, forceful, Wonder Woman-esque amazonian woman, and last time I checked, those ladies weren't exactly lining up for my dwarven ass.  I'm in a sort of "height limbo" that fluctuates between 5'4 and 5'5, even 5'6 if I'm talking to somebody really gullible.  So assuming the tall chick thing doesn't work out, I have to make due with a girl(whose genes suck already) who is the same height or shorter than me.  My kid is going to fucking petite.  I'm afraid that my mini-spawn will have to rely on his ravishing eyes, bulging calves, and witty prose to succeed in life.  If I have anything to do with passing those traits on. 

There's also the whole raising the spawn thing, where I'm required to live up to responsibilities and shit.  I think I have another decade (rough guesstimate) of thoroughly not wanting responsibilities as a mature person, although I am well aware that another decade of being a burnout is a product of a wildly fanciful imagination.  It just seems to me that there are a LOT of people in the 18-24 age range that pop out babies like the shit's cool.  Now there are some people who are doing a good job of raising these kids at, what I believe, is a relatively young age, but then I hear some chicks in my college classes using their kid to hide behind scholastic responsibility.  Can you imagine the shit I would use my kid as an excuse for?  Shit my pants?  Kid's fault.  Accidentally kill the dog?  The baby shouldn't have been driving.  Even if I told a bad joke at a party I'd say my retarded kid told me it, and that I only told it so we could laugh at his expense.  How am I gonna buy Call of Duty 58 when I have to buy fruits, vegetables, diapers and shit?  I can't maintain a 1.5 Kill:Death ratio, how the FUCK am I going to raise a spawn of my own?  There are still points in my life where I accidentally shit my own pants, and go into a hysterical frenzy and scream at myself for losing control of one one of the most basic bodily functions, now imagine me yelling at a child for that.  Every day. 

Okay, assuming I haven't panicked and eaten my spawn before he's shipped off to school, there is no way this country doesn't shit on his hopes and dreams or kill him before he can drive.  Besides the recent rash of Jumanji games spiraling out of control, my runt will probably have to compete with nerds, kinda smart kids, and the other average kids like himself.  He will also have to compete with those fucking idiots that were in your classes, and you fucking know what kids I'm talking about.  The kids whose parents didn't notice them pissing and shitting in 2 liter soda bottles and harvesting the fumes so they can get a psychadelic high.  The kids who killed neighborhood cats with BB guns and blew up the dead bodies.  I say that my spawn will have to compete with these kids, because the integrity of the traditional grading system has been raped by shitty Americans.  People are taking away valid reasons for beating my child.  They are essentially leveling the playing field for my mild-mannered kid and Sid from Toy Story.

A balmy juggalo.

Hopefully I don't have to tell my kid that his dreams are going to be crushed by everything else in life and he had better dream up some shit in the vain of accounting or some other boring garbage that I couldn't put myself through.  These are simply my thoughts.  I also think about how my small hands make my dick look big.


Text me,

JoeyG