Mommy and daddy are baby-eating atheists, apparently

I've been light on the posting lately, so there's a lot to catch up on. I've started breathing classes, which supposedly makes it easier on mommy when it's time for me to pop the fuck out, though honestly, I can't imagine anything making that process easy on anyone. By that time, I'm about the size of a large cabbage, and I'm going to be stretching the fuck out of a hole that's usually not meant for anything bigger than a medium carrot.

And as hard as mommy has it, I have to go from happily swimming in amniotic fluid to having to breathe in oxygen on my own - that's a a fucking transition right there. If that's not bad enough, I get slapped by the doctor just to make me cry. At least I'm not a dude and I don't have to face the possibility of getting my foreskin chopped. What kind of barbaric culture allows this? Hopefully, I'm born into a more civilized society where this sort of mutilation isn't allowed.

Which gets me thinking, as I often do with all this free time and no iPod to while my time away with, which god am I going to be forced to worship?

A man once said, "I definitely want my son to be christened, but I don't know which religion yet." Well, that man is a complete fucking idiot, but his heart's in the right place.

We all need spirituality, since there's more shit in the world that's unexplainable than not. Religion gives a nice set of rules to live by, to encourage people to sacrifice their immediate, short-term needs for the greater and long-term good. And the rituals give followers a sense of belonging, and comfort knowing that this shit worked for their ancestors and will work for them too.

I've gathered enough intel from my parents to know that they don't really believe in god, at least not one that's officially sanctioned (which sort of explains why my bastard fetus ass is here in the first place). But I don't see them going around robbing motherfuckers or fucking everything that walks, so I can't say absence of religion is the worst thing in the world, on an individual basis, anyway.

But really, God couldn't possibly give a fuck if you ate bacon or prayed in a certain direction or put up stockings by the mantle, right? Maybe that's some shit that's too complex for my feeble incomplete mind to wrap itself around. Wait, did I say bacon? And wrap? Shit, I'm hungry again.

The story of my life, before it's even begun

Seriously, this pretty much fucking mirrors my life. Other than the dad being way more attractive in the movie, this is EXACTLY HOW IT HAPPENED. In fact, there's even a gag about the dick scaring the fetus during pregger fucking (you'll have to catch the full-length R-rated trailer that keeps getting pulled from YouTube). It's like Apatow read my blog, went back in time and wrote this movie. I should be getting executive producer credit on this shit, at least. Otherwise, I'm suing the motherfucker as soon as I'm out of this bitch.

Oh, and the penis thing - it's been over a month since I wrote that post and the dynamic has changed a bit. I've grown bigger than the cock, and the sight of my dad's manhood is slightly less disturbing now that I know I'm a girl. And you gotta be packing some San Fernando Valley-caliber heat to come anywhere near my swimming lane.

Still, there's really no way of getting used to the pounding and the awful grunting sounds mommy and daddy make. I'm just fucking glad I don't have to see their O-face.

I'm your hell, I'm your dream, I'm nothing in between

I apologize for the inaction on this space in recent weeks. I discovered my feet a few weeks ago and I find kicking to be the most fucking fascinating thing, ever. Plus, with my memory not yet fully developed, every fucking thing is new every time. It's awesome being a fetus.

I mentioned earlier that I would be finding out whether I was a girl or boy, and guess what? I have a vagina!

I can't say it was the most comfortable experience. They poke around with the machine making sure I have all my parts and measuring my shit, including my labia. Shit, I've already posed full frontal and I'm not even born yet.

As you can imagine, mommy is thrilled since she can get all girly buying all kinds of pink clothings and home accessories. Daddy is crestfallen like a motherfucker, since his plan was to train me to become a college quarterback so I could get a scholarship and he can put my would-be college savings towards beer and weed. Now, the only way I can earn a college scholarship is if I turn out lezbo. Plus, he won't be able to trust anything with a penis within a mile of her.

Say, which is worse for a father, for a daughter to turn into a slut or a lesbian?

Anyway, now that they know my gender, they're furiously coming up with possible names for me, especially since "Cletus" ain't gonna fly.

Boys grow up to be quarterbacks, girls grow up to be figure skaters

This is a pretty fucking big week for me. Why? Because later this week, a doctor will poke inside mommy and see if I have a penis or a vagina. Or an incredibly elongated clitoris.

Actually, it's a bigger deal for mommy and daddy, since they can start picking names and buying shit that's going to reinforce some arbitrary society-mandated gender roles. Me, I know what I am. Well, that's not true. I have no idea what I am, and I won't really give a shit until I'm in kindergarten and other kids start calling me homophobic slurs.

And gender roles, if you think about, isn't all that artificial. See, girls and boys are wired differently. Specifically, they tend to find their self-worth in different ways - boys want to be scored, girls want to be scored. Let me explain:

• Boys = quarterbacks
  How do men measure each other? I mean, other than taking a tape measure to the dick? By comparing stats. Nobody gives a shit whether one quarterback's more talented than another, but everybody cares about the numbers - total yards, touchdowns and Super Bowl rings. Similarly, guys are compared by their paychecks, the horsepowers on their cars, the number of girls they've fucked. No one cares about the qualitative shit, it's all hard numbers. Quality be damned, it's putting one in the "W" column, or the sperm in the vagina that counts.
  


• Girls = figure skaters
  Chicks are different. Sure, she can do a triple lutz, maybe she can skate faster than everyone else, but what did the Russian judge think? What bout the French judge? While the male psyche operate on pure numbers, the dick-size mentality applying to pretty much everything in life, it's not enough for women to simply do well. They need acknowledgment that they're doing well. That's why you see an otherwise intelligent, attractive girl worrying about what some douche thinks of her. It doesn't really matter where it comes from, girls need validation.

Of course, thats all details. If I turn out to be a boy, I'll sleep with anything with a pulse that gives me the time of the day because, fuck, thats another notch on the bedpost, and if I'm a girl, I'll sleep with anyone who will come over and talk to me because, shit, someone values me!

Rosie by any other name would still be fat and obnoxious

If there's one thing expecting parents get excited about, it's naming the baby, and my stupid ass parents are no exception. While my instinct is to shit on anything they take seriously, I think it's justified here. Think about it, they're going to be saying that name an awful lot, like every time I break something expensive or ruin dinner or urinate in the wrong place. Or 17 years now, when I rob a convenience store and crash my car into a parked police cruiser, some stupid ass name they thought was really cute is going to look pretty dumb on the front page of the paper. And when I'm screwing my 9th grade teacher, it would be pretty fucking hard to screm "Kal El" with a straight face, or the O-face, as the case may be.

My point is, the name matters, and I really hope my stupid parents get over their stupidness and pick a name that's not completely stupid-ass. So consider this an open letter to my DNA providers, a humble request that they dust off that little thing called wisdom they stashed away in the nightstand drawer with the 12-pack of condoms that they were apparently saving for a special occasion.

1. Don't think you're smarter than everyone else. Your "creative" name sucks balls.
   
   This is important. You know the aforementioned "Kal El" is going to catch some quality beatdowns in 7th grade. And seriously, "Brooklyn", "Romeo" and fucking "Cruz"?
   
   Which isn't to say unconventional names are all bad. I happen to think "Apple" is perfectly okay, I mean, as long as she doesn't marry someone whose last name is "Andorange" or "Computers" or "Martini". Oh wait, her name is Apple Martin. Poor girl.
   
   But the point is, don't think too hard. If you're saying shit like "I definitely want Brooklyn to be christened, but I don't know into what religion yet", then you're probably not smart enough to think of a good name.


2. That said, don't pick a name that everyone else has.
   Especially the trendy ass names like "Madison", "Blake", and "Neveah" (seriously, what up the fuck?). Remember that Simpsons episode where Bart and Lisa got dropped down to third grade (I don't, because I wasn't even a fucking zygote yet)? They were taking attendance and it went something like "Morgan, Dakota, Ashley, Dakota, Taylor, Tyler, Lisa...". Well, I don't want to be a fucking Morgan, Dakota, Ashley, Taylor or a Tyler. Or Lisa, but only because that's an ugly ass name.
   
   Here's a rule of thumb - if the name you're thinking of is in the Top 10 list of baby names, then you should seriously reconsider, especially if the last name is also generic. You know how many Jacob Williamses and Emily Johnsons are going to be out there? Shit.
   


3. Speaking of last names, try to see how they sound together
   You should know that if your name is "Hunt", then you shouldn't name a kid "Michael". Similarly, you shouldn't name a kid "Richard" if your last name could also be a physical descriptor, like "Long", "Small" or "Bent". Try to sound it out, tell your more vulgar friends and see their reaction. Try to avoid names that rhyme.
   
   Initials are also important. It shouldn't take that much trouble to see if the initials spell out something like "ASS" or "DIK".
   
   And I can't stress the importance of syllable count. "Sarah Gellar"? Not so good - both names have two syllables. But stick "Michelle" in there to break it up, it's fucking perfect.


4. Give me name that can be taken seriously.
   
   "Tiffany" might be fine when you're throwing a Super Sweet Sixteen Slutfest for your spoiled little brat, but how do you think that looks on a resume for an executive position at a major investment firm? Cindy? Max? Sunshine? Cute is fine when you're still paying their bills. Names are fucking forever.
   



5. Don't give me a stripper name.
   
   This is probably the most important rule of all. By all means, avoid names like Destiny, Passion, Crystal and all its variations, Alexis, and pretty much anything named after spices, gemstones and flowers.
   
   Here's the thing - people have a tendency to live up to their names. Joey is going to act like a Joey, Jenny acts like a Jenny and Georges end up like you'd expect a George too. And if you give a girl a stripper name, she will grow up to be a stripper. And the worst part is, if I do end up growing up to be a stripper, it's going to be pretty fucking stupid when I have to take a stage name because "Brandi" with an "-i" was already taken by another dancer.

That shouldn't be too hard, should it? Just pick something simple, but not too common, and be careful of obvious shit like "Ben Dover". Though a part of me wants something like Laquisha so I can say shit like "Nigga please". Hook a fetus up.

Heavy is the head that's bigger than the rest of my body

So I haven't been good about this blogging thing. You'd think with all the free time that I have, and with all the stupid shit that mommy and daddy talk about, I'd be blogging like a motherfucker. But shit, it's not like I have a fully developed brain, or there's a tape recorder up in this bitch (and by "this bitch", I mean mommy), that I can record conversations or leave notes for myself.

Which is to say, lay the fuck off.

So I'm, what, 19 weeks old now? Shit, I'm growing hair now. I still don't know if I'm a boy or a girl, but if I'm a girl, it'll be the end of daddy, because if I come out with a vagina, he's going to be the most paranoid-ass overbearing, overprotective father, ever. I'm going to be a total daddy's girl and try to manipulate every man I meet and never be in a non-superficial relationship. Otherwise, he knows I'm going to end up having some serious abandonment issues, which will lead me to find a father figure in every guy I meet and fuck everything with a pulse and a dick, because that's the only way I'm going to maintain any sort of self worth.

I got my sonogram in a couple of weeks, and mommy and daddy are going to find out what I'm packing down here. That's going to be about the only time in his life he'd be happy to see a penis instead of a vagina.

My daddy is a motherfucker

Parental sex can be pretty fucking traumatic for a fetus. And it happens pretty fucking often because mommy's all hormonal and shit and daddy thinking he needs to squeeze in all the unprotected sex he wants because mommy can't get any more pregnanter and she's gonna close up shop once I pop out.

It's a good thing I haven't developed my memory functions or full use of my hands, because otherwise, I would have strangled myself to death by now.

Seriously, imagine you're like 5 inches tall and you're buck ass naked swimming inside this little bubble, you're chilling out sucking out nutrients and all of a sudden, you see this fucking rod that's as big as you trying to ram its way into your bubble? And it goes on for 7, 8, even 9 minutes - that's a fucking eternity for someone who's barely 4 months old. Yeah, sure, the penis can't actually reach me, but how am I supposed to know that? I'm just a fucking fetus, for fuck sake.