July 30, 2014 by The Zemanifesto
Hi there, it’s me, the unremarkable man eating in the same restaurant as you and your magical little baby. I know you’re in the middle of dinner — so am I — but I feel like you need to know that your baby is being a total dick right now. Either that or you are.
See, babies cry. I know that because I used to be a baby and I’ve got pictures to prove it. Also, your (undoubtedly wonderful) baby has been crying non-fucking-stop since you arrived, just moments after I was seated. Let’s call that anecdotal evidence.
But babies generally cry for a reason. A baby doesn’t have complex verbalization at its disposal just yet, but he or she will still “speak up” in many of the same instances any human being would. I think your baby would probably sound like Joe Pesci after inhaling helium:
- “Hey, you big, dumb, ugly motherfucker! I’m hungry over here!”
- “Whoa, I shit myself over here, what the fuck are you gonna’ do about it?”
- “Fuck this, I’m leaving. Drive me home, I’m going to sleep.”
- “Hey, fuck face, you gonna’ hold me or what?”
- “Whoa, my stomach is all kinds of fucked up, fix it, ya’ prick!”
- “Ah shit, my fucking teeth are fucking killing me!”
There are probably some other reasons, but I don’t know them. That’s one of the reasons I don’t have kids, so I don’t have to deal with this kind of shit. It’s your baby, so figure out what he wants.
Look, your baby pulls this crying shit everywhere and I usually don’t say anything.
Crying on on an airplane? Obnoxious, yes, but understandable. Being in coach on a commercial airliner makes me want to scream and weep as well, so your baby speaks for me in those situations. The screaming hurts my ears, sure, but inside I’m like, “fuck yeah, baby, this airline is bullshit. No inflight movie? Hit em’ with that Robert Plant wail!”
Cause I don’t hate your baby — I think his screaming is fucking metal — I just want it to stop for a little while. Can’t you take him outside or something?
Honestly, when it comes to some restaurants I’m not even mad at you. I don’t care if your baby cries at a burger joint or a fern bar. Frankly, if you’re at Chilli’s or TGIF’s with a baby, you’re the one who should probably be crying.
I mean, If your six half-naked toddlers want to run laps around the salad bar at a Chinese buffet… well, I probably won’t even notice if they don’t impede my access to the Mandarin chicken.
And while I know this place isn’t exactly Gary Danko, it definitely isn’t Chuck E Cheese. So I’m just saying, I think it’s pretty rotten that your violent, foul-mouthed, dick ass baby can’t shut up about shine boxes and clowns for five minutes. But I think it’s even worse that you just seem to be tuning him out and expecting the rest of us to do the same.
Seriously, shouldn’t you take him to a hospital or something at this point? Whatever he’s screaming about must be excruciating — maybe he has an earwig or something.
Or maybe he just hates his parents. I know I kind of do right now.