Inside Doug's Head

I am not a number, I am… What's that stuff they make glue out of? I'm that. Forever swirling, forwards and upwards, but always sticky. Sometimes, a little sad.

Have I ever mentioned how much I dislike human children? Because I do; dislike them, that is. I would not recommend having kids, either, since they are really just a trick of biology. To be fair, it isn’t really the kids I don’t like, but their parents. As Henry Kissinger once said, “There is no such thing as bad kids, just kids with bad haircuts.” Who knew the man behind the Paris Peace Accords was also a parenting phenom?

It’s mostly the noise they make and the chaos they create, the kids not the parents. And they are stupid–the parents and the kids. They stand there with poop in their pants, possessing the audacity to interrupt me mid-sentence while I am speaking with another adult, only to share some tidbit of infantile wisdom, “My shoes make me run fast.”

“So will a tiger. Maybe you can use your shoes and their special abilities to run as far from me as you can get.”

Kids ruin everything, especially the adult only things. I don’t complain about there not being enough nudity in a Disney movie. OK, I usually do because that is who I am, but still, why do their parents feel the need to engage the censorship machinery of big government every time a naked titty is shown on HBO? Why should programs that are rated TV-MA have to have all of the good parts blurred away? The MA rating is for mature audiences, not meddling ass-clowns. Won’t someone please think of the children?! If parents don’t want their kids to see anything offensive, they should commit to blinding them at birth. Stuff is out there, and your kids might happen to look at it, so you had better be prepared to take drastic actions to prevent their corruption by the evils of society.

When did it become acceptable to take your a baby to a pub? Nothing says good parenting like pounding back a few beers in public while your offspring sits by, sucking on a bottle of camel milk. I am not paying $7 for a drink in a quiet tavern, only to have to hear your kid cry because you are too busy ignoring it; you can do that at home. Stay off the airplanes, too, while you are at it. Make grandma come to you. Before you have kids, realize that the commitment you are making is to have no personal life or individual freedoms ever again, so don’t try to live life as if nothing has changed.


Every parent should know right out of the gate that their kids are ugly and no one else likes them. They look weird, smell bad, and sound stupid, so please keep them away from me. As parents, you can love them if you want to, but don’t go around all proud and full of yourself, expecting the rest of the world to buy into the delusion that your kids are special. Your kids are ugly, gross, and stupid, so don’t send me pictures of them as greeting cards. What you and I see in them is… different.

Also, what is with parents these days doping their kids up for dying just because they run around acting like kids? When their kids won’t sit still for eight hours straight, they have them diagnosed with a disorder, and then pump them full of methylphenidate and fluoxetine. Instead of being normal and active, they sit around all day paralyzed and half sleeping, with drool and pancakes hanging out of their stupid ugly faces. It’s no wonder all the kids are getting so fat, but somehow we end up with extra taxes on food containing sugar in order to combat childhood obesity, and protests against vaccines giving children various disorders. I hate kids, but especially their parents, and especially their kids.

It should come as no surprise that when discussing child rearing philosophies with new parents I always recommend regularly beating kids with a sack of Valencia oranges. They are juice oranges, so they don’t leave welts or bruises, and putting them in a sack is much easier than pelting them one at a time from across the room. The little dickenses can skedaddle and it’s hard to land one just right, especially when you are frothing in a fit of rage and your brain has disconnected from accurately controlling your limbs. You are more likely to end up with broken lamps and televisions than dolling out a decent measure of behavior modification. A heavy sack beating is definitely the way to go.

On the positive side, kids are very gullible, and that can make it easy to trick them into believing otherwise unbelievable things. It can be entertaining for a while, at least until I get bored of watching them cry. I remember the time I drove my kids to a burned down building and told them it was where Santa clause lived. Since Santa and his elves all died in the fire, there would be no Christmas this year, or ever again. They went along with the joke and pretended to be pretty upset during the ride home, but I think they found it funny.

Hey, I didn’t have kids before I met my wife, so technically it’s all her fault.


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