Babies Are Stupid!

 

A woman friend of mine once told me 

"there's nothing sweeter than sleeping with your babies and feeling their breath on your cheeks."

"Ahhh, how sweet", I said to myself. I then thought that this baby thing must be a big thing to women because they're always talking about them. Further, I came to the conclusion that I had better find out about these babies so that I can make a better impression with the women I come into contact with. You see, this way I could stand around and talk babies with them and, after I leave, they would say "Warmheart. What a guy!". Don't those words just roll together? Try saying it out loud: "Warmheart. What a guy."

For you see, I never had much dealings with babies. When Tenderheart was a little pup, I would play with him until something horrid would fill the air and then turn him over to Mrs. Warmheart. A guy with a schedule like mine just never had the time for trifling matters. You understand.

Now I had to learn about these tiny beasts. But how? I searched for the answer and then snapped my fingers as the realization of my new desire came to me like a flash of lighting across a moonless desert sky.I would find out about them first hand! That is just what I would do, and it would be easy to do too.

My niece Cindy and her husband just had a baby. Well it's been six months, but the guy was still a baby. I knew this because Cindy always talked to me about her "little darling baby". She calls him her "little angel" and goes on and on and on about how "bright and intelligent" little Mickey is. So I figured little Mickey, my nephew, would be just the baby for me to learn from.  

The more I thought about it the more sense it made, so last week I called up my niece and said "you've been wanting me to get to know bright, intelligent little darling Mickey better and now I'm ready to take you up on that. How about if you and your hubby take the night off and go out on the town?  Let me watch the kid."

Cindy seemed really happy about my suggestion, agreeing right away, and even started telling the little guy that "Uncle Warmheart" was coming to stay for the evening with him. Since I heard her telling him this, was it wrong for me to assume that he'd be clued into this event by the time I arrived? That was my first mistake. The first of many, I'm afraid.

"Bright and intelligent" Mickey?!  Some day I'd like to find out what my niece is basing this assessment on. It turns out he's a stupid moron!  And I'm not kidding!

I bought a snare drum as a gift for the kid and as I was driving over to my niece's house, I was smiling all the way, figuring that if this kid is so bright, he'll probably be pounding out a good steady beat within the hour. I couldn't wait to walk in and hand it to him. "Oh, Mother!  Look at what kindly Uncle Warmheart has bought me!", he'd say with a proud smile on his face. Then, he'd probably disappear into this room to begin practicing on it right away.. At least, this is what I was figuring on. Instead, when I walked in, all I saw was this little tiny kid with snot running down his nose and, get this, he was not even walking around.

No!  He was crawling on all fours making gurgling sounds and, even worse, he acted like he didn't know me from Adam. Right away I got frightened because he reminded me of those insane people from the movies about nut houses in the old days!  You remember those movies; some guard would open the door, toss a new guy in and then slam the door. From inside, you'd hear the keys of doom locking the new guy in. All the old nuts who had been there in the dark would start crawling towards this new retard. Hooo boy, now here little Micky was crawling towards me. I have to be honest: it made me shudder.

I looked at my nephew with trepidation and tried to hide my horror.  And then, to make it worse, she scowled when she saw the drum I'd brought. She immediately took it from me and put it away somewhere, giving me a dark look. I turned to her husband and gave one of those looks, as if to say "Geez, what's got into her?" He looked none to happy as well, and I assume that he was just upset with her response.

Then, here came the part I couldn't believe. Little Mr. Angel was to be given a bottle at 7:30.

A bottle? "Of what?", I asked, "is the kid drinking already? Whiskey? What?". Cindy laughed and gave me one of those love pats on the arm. "No, you silly. There's a bottle of his formula in the refrigerator. Just warm it up a bit and give it to him. He can handle it by himself now. And make sure he doesn't swallow anything. Oh, and don't let him stay up past 8:00."

This was going on entirely too long. I had to find out what she meant. "What, 8:00 in the morning?".

She just laughed and closed the door. I could hear her husband saying something like "Are you sure he's the best guy...." as they walked away.

Thus began my night of horror with one of the biggest dimwits I have ever come across.  It didn't take me long to determine that little Mickey is no angel and he's not bright and he's not intelligent. Not at all. It's a good thing he was wearing these strange plastic shorts with little Velcro strips because the first thing this "little angel" did after his mom left was to start crying and take a crap right into these shorts! I went and sat the guy on the toilet but all he did was fall in!

"Moron!", I shouted at him, "take the crap into the toilet, not into your pants!". He acted like he didn't understand a word I was saying, he just kept crying, right in my face!  He was a little crybaby.  And he was a crapbaby.  From now on I'm going to call this idiot Crapboy.   Man did he stink!   

He stank so bad that I couldn't stand it.  I started filling up the bath and told him to get his clothes off.  I turned back to the bath and when I saw that the water was at a good high level and steaming hot, I turned to tell him to get in.  I expected him to be undressed and ready to hop in the bath, but he was not even in the bathroom.  This was starting to put a serious crimp into my television watching.   I looked all over the house and found him out in the garage playing with a pistol.   He wasn't even undressed yet!   I had to bring him to the bathroom, take his clothes off and put him into the tub before I could go out and watch some more television.    Before I even sat down I heard gurgling noises and crying sounds.   Back into the bathroom I trudged only to see that he was having a hard time keeping his head above the water level.  "My God you're stupid", I cried, pulling him out of the tub.   

He hadn't even cleaned his own ass yet and still stunk badly so I put him outside on the front porch where he could wait for his Mommy and Daddy.   It wasn't fifteen minutes later that, over the blaring television, I heard car brakes shrieking outside.  Hoping to see some good carnage, I raced to the front door to have a look.   But there were no smashed up cars, no bodies hanging out of the windows.   Just one car.  Unfortunately for me, it was Cindy's car.  Worried about little Mickey (and I can't say I blame  them. I would worry about him too), they had come home early to check on him.   But as they were pulling up to the house, they saw something in the road and stopped.  It turned out to be Mickey!   That lame brained little idiot had crawled right out into the street in front of their car.  What a maroon!  I think by now you will have to agree when I say that if Mickey is representative of babies in general, the human race is all set for extinction in a very few years.   Cindy and her husband were very very upset and yelling about something but I just kept trying to recommend that their darling little intelligent boy be locked up in one of those old time mental institutions.  It would be for the good of their family, the neighborhood and the world.  

Let's face it, folks, babies are dumb and defenseless little useless creatures.  In fact, they're like an old people with Alzheimer's disease.  Yep, they are that bad.  I'm sorry, women of the world, you can go on believing what you want, but it would not be warmhearted of me not to tell you anything but the truth, right?   Right?

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