Tuesday, Nov 12, 2002

Chris came to work today with 30 minutes of sleep under his proverbial belt, and only slightly more than that trapped, like singles in a stripper's g-string, under his actual belt -- for the non-scientists, roughly one hour's total sleep. That's because Chris has bad baby karma. When he flies the friendly skies, so do a legion of babies. And these are not the babies from the Snuggles (TM) commercials; these are the ones for whom existence itself is an excruciating injustice, in whom breathing and sitting produce righteous indignity; they're the babies with the weight of history's cumulative grief on their narrow shoulders -- these are also the babies who suffer from devastating gastric cramps. Using spine-tingling screams, these babies appeal directly to the gods for mitigation of their agony. We're being sarcastic. Babies are fucking drama queens. If a "diva" ever acted like babies do, she'd be fired immediately. Nobody stands there and takes shit from another person the way we do, all of us, from babies. For even the most cowardly among us there is a line the crossing of which causes us to retaliate. Unless the transgressor is a baby, in which case we stand dumb in the face of a baby's divine right to create sonic atrocities for no good reason. How long will this go on?

The following website address has not yet been registered:
stopbabykind.com. Someone must get on this. Due to sponsor affiliations (Gerber(TM), Children's Dimetapp(TM), Sippy Cup(TM)), we can't be the ones to do it. Fanbase, wake up! There's a war being fought right under your noses, a war with very high stakes and one that, if the babies win it, will be like The Nam in terms of how many people look back on it with a bitter smile and vacant, unfocused eyes.

Some of you may suppose that this is some kind of dimwitted Swiftian satire. For you we offer the following anecdote, which we will not dress up in metaphor or excess verbage: On Chris's flight last night, there was this baby trying to scream his own teeth out of his mouth -- just roaring -- for no reason. And whenever his mom tried to quiet him by whispering reassuringly or cradling him, he would strike her in the face with all his pathetic might. He hit her face again and again, whenever she so much as looked down at him. Do you see now?

We still sense reticence. It's time for the pictures then. Take a look at this photograph of a common baby. Pay special attention to how fucking evil it obviously is:

We hate to do this, but we're going to have to show you another one to insure that the point has been made:

That's one evil-scheming baby. Can any among you maintain doubt after seeing this:

Steel yourselves, friends. Witness the final exhibit. We know this isn't easy:

Four everyday, run of the mill babies, their malice captured quite objectively by a common 35 millimeter camera. You may continue to deny what's going on if you wish, but it will now be willful, irresponsible ignorance and not simple naivete that is to blame when the babies one day do their macabre little dance on the original copy of the Constitution, when they thrust humanity into an age so dark that we'll be forced to refer to the Dark Ages as simply That One Time, for it will no longer seem like a dark time, comparitively.

A final exhortation. Next time you see a baby in person, smack its face. Shake your head dismissively at the resulting shrieks. Let the baby know that its hold on you only exists so long as you let it exist. Then terrify the baby and its kind by slapping it again to emphasize that you have ceased to recognize that hold. Then shave a bald-stripe down the middle of the baby's head, producing an inverted mohawk of sorts, which will make the baby look like a damned idiot, and he'll be forced to lay aside his pride. Watch him glower at his diaper's waistband, silently fuming. Taste the nectar of triumph.

--------