Tag Archives: having kids

Kids, as an old and wise eighteen year old, I have some possibly distressing news for you. I mean, you’re like, still in someone’s tummy, but I figured that the earliest possible date that you could be informed was probably the best. Right now, you’re probably just an adorable, slimy little fetus resting inside your mother’s womb. You probably have fingernails. I don’t know if you can think or sense, but I know you can’t see, and I’m so happy for your luck in that department.

Your tiny little heart is beating, and your tiny little body is forming, and one day, you’ll plop out of your mom’s vagina in a gory, horror-movie-esque scene. Your father might have a panic attack; the first thing you hear might be your mother screaming, and that, dears, is traumatic. Next, someone will hang you upside-down and slap your ass. Oh, they don’t do that anymore? Really?

But this is actually not the traumatic news I have in store for you. Oh child of love (or child of drunken back-seat canoodling), you are about to be born into a family of idiots. Yes, yes it’s true. Your mother is probably not even out of high school yet, and your idiot Pot-Smoking dad dropped high school to be in a band, which, yehp, you guessed it, just disbanded. You see, these two sex-crazed drug addicts flooped the loop without protection a few too many times, and now here you are, imprisoned in a cell (or many cells, ahaha), serving your 9-10 months long before your time. I truly fear for you.

So, today, I’m going to give you a small gift, and I hope that it helps you in your sad, unfortunate, probably doomed life. I can only hope this gets to you before your mother drops you too many times, or your father watches you crash the car because he thought it would be cool to see a Toddler drive. 

This gift will come in a list. You can read it when you finally turn twelve and your grandmother actually manages to sneak your first picture book into your household. A list of five (because really, that’s all there are) things that  you can use to get out of this situation.

1. Your Grandparents. Though they’re probably as dumb as anyone in this town, they are good Christians who hold firm beliefs. They will try to get you an education. They will buy you decent clothes and even take you to Church every Sunday. They will work their hardest to instill morals, values, and chocolate chip cookies into you. Warning: When you hit Puberty, they’ll either stop trying or they’ll turn to the dark side to get you a future.

2. Be Born a Natural Beauty/Talent/Genius. I know, I know, you can’t control this one, and if you’re a fat, geeky, pimple-ridden and diseased teenager reading through this at the speed of a turtle climbing a mountain, this is just going to feel incredibly offensive. On the off-chance that your father’s rock-star looks and your mother’s talent for giving Blowjobs gets passed down to you, I suggest you start making money the only way you know how. Flipping Burgers at McDonalds. Prostitution is wrong, kids.

3. Sell Your Body for LOTS of Money. Yes, we have just disregarded my previous sentence. If you can make enough money to get out of there, and you’re sensible at all, you may be able to find yourself a job/education. Sure, you’ll have Herpes looming over you for the rest of your unnatural-born life, and chances are that the best you’ll do is a semester of Community College, but at least you won’t be living in a Podunk town where your boyfriend is your cousin and your mom is your uncle. Don’t ask how that works.

4. Rob a Bank and skip town. You’ll want to do this at a young age. The idea is be young enough to not go to jail and old enough to know how to hotwire a car, crack safes, and flee to a tropical island paradise far away. Or at least hire people to do the first two things and then get a job working at Treasure Island.

5. Make your Mother crave Bleach. Harsh, I know, but if she drinks bleach in copious amounts, you won’t be born, and that will save the world from the 90 percent chance that you’ll end up an ugly, easy, trailer park kid that gets preggers/gets someone preggers at 13. Good luck to you and may Asgard help us all.

Love ya!


One Last Post Before the Storm…I Mean, Party.

Oi there, babes! I have decided that all of you beautiful people are married to me. I’m taking the phrase ‘married to the job’ a little bit farther. So, congratulations, everyone who reads my blog, you officially have a new spouse. 

Here’s the catch. It’s an internet marriage. It’s not official, we’re not buying a house together, and we’re not having kids. The exception to the house and kids rules are as follows.

1. Telea is willing to rent an apartment with one specific follower of her blog, and that person already knows who she is.

2. If the house is really just a blog, and the kids are our little combined effort blog babies, I support that to a level none of you even knew existed. It’s on a whole other level how much I support that. 

3. If you want to buy me a really nice house, I’m not going to object even one bit. Unless that house is A. a Modern Tech House, B. Positioned in a War zone, C. A Deathtrap, or D. Contains a rape dungeon.

4. Wait, having a rape dungeon might be kinda…morbidly cool. Scratch the Rape Dungeon bit. You just can’t USE the rape dungeon.

5. If you can absolutely guarantee that our children will be born as magical being that can shapeshift into fire-breathing dragons and lay eggs of gold, we can have children together. Be warned that if you guarantee this to me, and then the children end up, well, just kids…I will drown them/turn them into dumpster babies/put them up for adoption in Africa.

Not that I’m a bad person or anything, it’s just that…we’re not having kids.

Anyway, today I get a paycheck that totals around…four hundred dollars. A large percentage of this is going in the ‘do not touch, it’s for an apartment’ fund, while the rest is going in the ‘You fucking NEED a car, Telea’ fund.

I’ll work for a couple of hours today, and then I’ll shower up, suit up, and get my party on, just the way Odin intended, THANK ASGARD!

If I manage to get another post in this weekend, you can be damned sure that a miracle has happened, in which case I expect you to bow down to my greatness. But not really bow, just say you bowed.

Love ya!