Babies. You can’t live with ’em, and you can’t get f**ked up with ’em. That’s not exactly how the saying goes, but that’s all anybody needs to know. Babies ruin the party and destroy vaginas. Unless they make me laugh, they make me wanna puke — and when you’ve been drinking Jack and smoking hippie lettuce all day, it’s best to avoid anything that might make your spins end in a splash.
But, you know what? This baby ain’t so bad. I feel a certain kinship with him, like I could sling him in a unibjorn, call him Carlos, and head to Vegas. But this guy isn’t your average baby, not by a long shot. I know what this little Buffalo Soldier’s been up to. Making fart noises with your mouth is a dead give away. And pretending to cry so you can tell your dad that’s why your eyes are so red and glossy is the oldest trick in the book. I’ve been doing it since I was about his age, in fact. Lucky for him, dad doesn’t seem to care and cranks the radio to 420 FM for a little Marley jam. I dunno how he and his dad got to be such great “buds,” but I can only assume it was the power of the chronic.
