Today was a really nice day for me and Dum-Dum. We went to the park and I accidentally left him in one of those swings where his stupid fat legs hang out the bottom. But I had a really good day on my own. He was badly sunburned, but who’s to say what’s fun for a baby?
After we got home, I made some popcorn for us. He really liked the hard little seeds that didn’t really pop. I think he had one stuck under his eyelid for a while, but he cried it out. No harm done. Sometimes it’s important to let your kids solve their own problems. Parenting tip there.
I was pretty tuckered out from getting around town all day and then hiding on the edge of the playground to make sure no one was waiting to arrest whoever came back for Dum-Dum. So I was ready for bed. But something they don’t tell you about these babies is that they are too dumb to just go to bed. They thrash around and pee and cry and don’t go to sleep. I don’t get it. Okay, maybe having a life-size version of the alien from Aliens that I bought at the Sharper Image didn’t help, and maybe it made it worse that it was right over the opening to his igloo crib. But I don’t think a baby should be able to decide how I decorate my home.
I tried some different things to get him to sleep. I tried to think what helps me sleep. The first thing that came to mind was jerking off. So I gave him some privacy in case he wanted to do that. But I don’t think his arms can jerk his dick yet. I think there was something in one of those parenting books about what your kid should know by each grade, and jerking off wasn’t until like second grade or something.
As any parent, I briefly entertained the notion of doing it myself. But just the thought of his nude baby thighs made me so ill that I had to take a minute and cool off by drinking four beers.
That was it. Eureka’s Castle! If I could just get some booze in him, he’d be out like a shitty light.
But getting babies to drink from a can is harder than you might think. They cut their lips all to shit when they try to suck on the opening, and they spill the shit everywhere. Dolts.
I tried shotgunning one in him, but it mostly just splashed his face. He thought that was kind of funny, but we’ll see how funny it is when your face is all stuck to the sheets with hops.
Someone once told me that you can sing a baby to sleep. Someone also told me that you can make a bird sleep by putting a sheet over it’s cage. I figured combining techniques couldn’t hurt, which is what I had to explain to the officers who entered the house to find my singing my fifteenth a capella rendition of Slayer’s “South of Heaven” while a baby was on the floor crying, wearing a Spider-Man mask backwards so he couldn’t see out the eyeholes.
They picked up Dum-Dum, and one drew his gun on me.
“Hey, that’s mine!” I said.
“Not anymore, fucker!” one of them said. That’s what he said with his face. His mouth said something about rights, but his face was definitely excessive force that deserves money to me.
They took me downtown where they opened up the door and let me out and beat the holy shit out of me and then took off to a different part of town. Not every police station is downtown, I learned.
Lord knows what happened to my special little guy. I guess we’ll never know. But I’d like to think that out there, somewhere, there’s a guy who likes to sleep in igloos and bursts into tears whenever he sees a playground without knowing why.