“You’re Biologically Programmed To Do That!”

So maybe we started off a little too seriously…

You may well be thinking to yourself: “Where the hell are the jokes assholes‽”.

Fear not. We are lighthearted bundles of joy; full of fun, happiness, and sunshine*. Fortunately this brings me neatly to today’s topic, in a roundabout kind of way.

The is the beginning of the downfall of man...

You may think it has something to do with babies from the picture. But it’s not. It’s about their very, very so-smug-you-wanna-punch-’em-in-the-face parents.

What is it about having a baby that makes people want to endlessly tell you all about them? For those of us without children, we are subjected to hearing some pretty disgusting stuff described. What is it about parents and their need to constantly talk about their ordeals?

It usually falls into two categories. One being how tough it is having the damn thing and how special the kid is, and how you just have to hear about every little detail of every little thing the lumpy ball of flesh has achieved in its 3 months as a living breathing soon to be destructive mammalian existence. The other being just about how happy they are and how complete they feel with a kid. Hmm.

Don’t get me wrong, I want to have kids one day. I want a mind I can shape with all sorts of various nuggets of hate and irrational opinions. But I will not – WILL NOT – have some deep seated need to inform everyone about every time it rolls over or shits.

And even if it’s not telling people every minute of the day, by far the worst thing is being subjected about how different/special/fucking fantastic your baby is. Which is odd. Because it’s a baby or toddler or whatever, that couldn’t take care of itself in the wild should the parents be beaten to death by bored-to-tears bystanders. If it started juggling 3 balls in one hand and cracking a whip at a tiger, whilst picking its nose, I would certainly be impressed. But if it makes some gurgling sound when it’s lying on its back staring at the ceiling and for one fucking moment not actually crying about something, then I will stand there with my arms folded and hope the hounds of hell drag you away for a spot of torture.

“Look. He burped. He’s so cleverrr…”

But really. What makes your child special to anyone other than you and your family (who a probably bored of your nonsense but are too polite to say anything)? And what makes you so special for being able to have a child in the first place. Obviously some people can’t have children, and some kids are born with defects. I’m not railing against those people. It’s all those other people that irritate me.

You know the people I’m talking about.

It’s not like you have done something special that has never been done in the hundreds of generations before you. And your ancestors are probably face-palming to the grating sounds of your annoying voice. You are doing something that bits of chemicals in your body (called DNA if you’re wondering) want you to do.

You are a pawn in the evolution game, my friend.

Now, do us all a favour and shut the hell up.

*This may or may not be factually accurate.

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