04
Aug
07

How your children sterilized me

It was a hot Friday afternoon when I began my stroll into Sam’s Club. I had gotten a great parking spot and was thinking that maybe, just maybe, that Friday was one of those days where everything would be going my way.

So, in my brief time in the parking lot, there was a child screaming his head off at his mom. Apparently, he wanted to push the cart, but she said, “No, you can’t drive the cart.” And the wailing began. Oh dear God did the wailing begin. I mean, even outside it was loud, so I sprinted into the store to get away from the noise.

Well, as I shop, I hear the wailing again. Except this time, it’s echoing throughout the cavern that is Sam’s Club.

Now, to put things into perspective for you, I’m no stranger to loud. I remember being at the Palace Theater in Greensburg to see a Megadeth show, and thrashing out right in front of the speakers and not being able to hear for days afterwards. I’ve worked construction with dad. I’ve fired vintage guns (like my 1940s era Enfield) without ear protection. So, loud is really nothing new to me. I mean, now that I’m older, I like things more on the quiet side, but that’s because I’ve been there and done that.

So, when I say that this kid was screaming loudly, I want you to get the full understanding of what I’m saying. This kid’s cries literally scrambled my thought process to the point that I completely forgot who I was, why I was in the store and why I felt the sudden desire to capture my soul as it left my body. And later, I understood why my soul left — so that my body could ruthlessly hunt down and strangle said child to make the screaming end. I think it was trying to remain clean while the flesh (which is weak, mind you), did what it had to do. Like somehow this defense would hold up in God’s court. “Temporary soulessness, Sir. And the devil had to have taken over. It’s not my fault!” Like God would buy it. Or maybe he would. After all, he did send his son to be raised by other people. I wonder if Mary referred to God as “my baby’s daddy”? I can just hear Mary yelling at God, “And don’t you come back to see him unless you bring some diapers! And don’t give me that ‘I can’t afford it’ crap; you live in a palace in the sky, and I gave birth to YOUR child in a fucking manger, for fuck’s sake!”

Sorry, I know I’m off topic, but I think that that’s a whole different blog somewhere down the line.

So anyway, when the screaming stopped and my soul had returned, I realized that the air raid siren was actually a different child. And it was at this point I think my testies just up and decided to stop all semen production on their own. “Nope. Nope. No how, no way. If that’s the result of our efforts, fuck that.” That’s all they’d say when I tried to get them to start up production again.

And the worst part was I understood the rationale. If they never restart, well, I can’t say I’d be amazingly disappointed.

For those of you who are parents, I now understand why you think your child is God’s Gift to the Universe. God instilled that feeling in you to keep you from simply “forgetting” your children in the woods. Or in the bed of a random pickup truck. Or in a life preserver out at sea. It can be the only reason that you are immune to the incessant and painful screams that send non-parents fleeing, and managed to shut down all reproductive desire in my body.

In time, I’m sure that things will change, as a different company will buy my testies and fire them back up again. But you can damn well bet that there will be a reproductive clause in that contract, and there will be a heavy investment in birth control.

Hmmm, maybe there is a benefit to those wailing children afterall….

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