FLOATATION DEVICES! I NEED FLOTATION DEVICES!

When you look into the trusting eyes of a child, you wonder how long you'll be able to resist telling them a stupendous lie. Something that they'll believe for years, till they realize that "oh my gerd Uncle Stinky was pulling my leg! There are no dinosaurs working as lounge singers in Vegas! They all died in an accident billions of years ago! They didn't invent rock and roll!
And my parents weren't on the run from the law at all! They're middle class!"

You need to seriously think about your actions.

You are a very bad man.


Uncle Stinky regrets not having children of his own. They'd have such interesting childhoods! On the other hand, when I am old and grey and in a wheelchair, no one who pushes me out to the designated municipal smoking area in the salt flats with all the other old fossils will have any incentive to leave me there when the tide comes in. So I guess that's a good thing.

Strangely, none of my friends who have kids -- and I'm convinced that they're all drunks and potsmokers, because that would explain things -- will allow me anywhere near their offspring. They're probably scared stiff of what I'll tell the little brutes about what their mom and dad were like before they were born.

Your parents had ideals once, kid. They were going to change the world, lead the masses with torches and pitchforks against the factory owners, disembowel the heads of corporations, and organize society into anarcho-syndicalist collectives, where members would take turns being chief executive for a week. Important matters would be put to a vote, requiring a simple majority in case of internal affairs ...
Now they just sit around huffing pot and swilling vodka. They're drowning their sense of having completely failed. That's why they bribe you with happy meals at McDonald's, kiddo.
They don't want you to notice how miserable they are.

You should become like me.
Hot cups of tea, egg rolls cookies, and good pipe tobacco whenever I want.


By the way: here's a picture of your dad when he was your age.
Do you see the nineteen seventies clothing and haircut?
That's why he does so much pot and booze.
He wants to forget all that.
He's scarred.


I'm available for baby sitting, in case you were wondering.
Sixty dollars an hour and snacks.
It will be instructive.
Build character.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================