I don’t like children. Especially yours.
Apart from the continuing the human race angle, I really don’t get it. They’re ungrateful, noisy, irritating little shitheads, and every time I’m told that Timmy is *soooo* clever for his age reinforces my theory that what these pampered whelps are actually best at is reducing the intelligence of their parents. He’s two years old, for fuck’s sake, which means that little Timothy’s settings are switched to ‘dumb-ass’ by default, no matter how many members of the teletubbies he can identify without being sick on the sheepskin or messing his pants. In a perfect world, fatherhood would consist of a) presence during conception and b) turning up at Wembley to celebrate the first England cap.
Having said that, I’ve been passing a sign on the way home from work this week that damn-near breaks my glacial heart.
I swear I must be going soft.