Kids are Retarded

Kids are, basically, retarded. First, they have no respect for our advanced knowledge. You say, “Don’t touch the stove, don’t touch the stove, don’t…” But now they’re crying because they touched the stove. And then tomorrow… they’ll do it again.

They have no sense of self preservation. Which is fine with me. I can make more.

My son will test me...
I’ll tell him not to touch something, and he’ll reach out, looking at me, … he’s two years old… he’ll reach out, as if to say, “I’m touching it! What’re you going to do, Big Man? You’re gonna put me in time out? You know what I do in time out? I laugh at you! It just sounds like crying, you know, through the door.”

Maybe I’m a bad parent, but sometimes, I’m just like, “Fine. You wanna do it? After I told you not to? Go ahead and touch the stove.” So he touches it. He starts bawling. I’m laughing. “Dummy!” And that’s when Mommy gets home. Now who’s the dummy?

My wife blames his genes on me. “I wasn’t like that as a child,” she says. “I was quiet.” My parents don’t help at all. She’ll ask them, “What was he like?” and they say, “Oh he was worse. He had so much energy.” And then they laugh, because for them, this is revenge, and it is sweet. Revenge is a dish best served cold, which is probably why they deliberately feed him ice cream at night before we take him home for bed.

Children need two parents, they really do. Because at any given moment, one of the parents wants to kill it. Or give it away. Sometimes my wife makes me wonder if “maternal instinct” is a myth. “You knocked me up,” she says calmly. “You deal with him.”

I always heard that parents are too tired to have sex. I don’t agree. I think parents areafraid to have sex.  If the idea of sex so much as enters my head, one look at what happened last time quells it.