They say the day your child is born is supposed to be the greatest day of your life. I’m here to tell you that’s a crock of shit. Ever since my little bundle of scream-crying, temper tantrums, and expenses came into this world my life has been an elevated horror.
Everyone, say hello to my little guy. My guy is named Brandon. My guy fucking sucks.
Back in 2014, I watched a little sleeper-hit horror movie called “The Babadook.” It follows a woman in a situation so horrifying I thought it could only occur in fiction; being saddled with a kid you don’t like very much. I remember thinking “Wow, thank God that in real life when you have kids they don’t completely suck like that kid sure seemed to.”
Apparently, life really does imitate art, because two years after we watched that movie my wife gave birth to Brandon and I haven’t slept a full night since. Spooky!
Pretty much the only difference between me and that lady in the movie is I don’t have a cool fairy-tale ghost to play around with.
Sure, Brandon doesn’t excel at making improvised projectile weapons from household items like that little Damien in the movie did, but he wreaks just as much havoc without them! His weapons of choice are the word “no,” throwing fits in public places, and leaving his goddamn toys right on the goddamn stairs every goddam night!
I tried explaining all of this to a psychologist to see if they could fix this little shit but they just gave me an earful about depression this, narcissistic personality disorder that, “you need medication and therapy” and blah blah blah. They didn’t say anything that addressed the primary issue that I thought I laid out pretty clearly, this kid sucks!
If someone could take this fucker off my hands for a night or two or forever I would super fucking appreciate it because I’m at the end of my goddam rope with his “I’m hungry! I can’t sleep! Pokemon!” fucking nonsense! That or send some A24 cameras down here so at least we can get another good movie out of the hellscape that is my life.
Don’t have kids, you guys.