"I'm pooping my pants, fool, what does it sound like I'm doing?"
"Oh, I see."
"That's right, and you'd best be changing me before I blow out this here diaper all over your cracker-ass lap." Chuckles. "Cracker-ass-cracker."
Having visited the pediatrician today, I think I may switch from Chris Rock to Fat Albert. She has gained 3 pounds in her 5 weeks of life. Hmm, 3 times 10 is 30 times 10, carry the 3...holy shit! That means by my calculations she will weigh a little over 300 pounds by her 10th birthday. Luckily, she has also grown 3 inches. So...--phew, this calculator is getting a workout!--that's 300 inches in 10 years. Um, no one tell Homeland Security, but my 10 year old daughter may be 25 feet tall to go with her 300 pounds. And that's making the modest assumption of linear growth. Throw a natural logarithm in there and Godzilla had better watch his scaly ass.
So my daughter is going to be an ebonics speaking 25 footer. Fantastic. At least the WNBA will be a little more interesting and she'll be able to support me in my dotage. But even if my daughter turns out to be normal-sized and not the white female Yao Ming, I'll have all the wonderful income from my Google Ads which you will find conveniently located just to the right of this post. The funny thing about Google Ads is that they make you agree to a serious list of conditions and things that you won't do. For instance, I'm not supposed to click on my own ads. As Borat would say, "That would be like doing it with my sister. Very nice!" Fair enough, I guess, no blog incest. I'm also prohibited from soliciting my blog visitors to click on my ads. Well what the fuck? Are they supposed to click themselves?
1 comment:
i just paid for her first 2 hours of college. you may thank me in cookies tomorrow.
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