Ever notice how stupid babies are? Ask them a question, any question, and they just go “gah-gaaah” or something. Give them an IQ test, and they’ll start chewing on it. I mean, they don’t know anything.
My cat is smarter than babies. I ask my cat, “You wanna eat?” and she goes “Meow!” Ask a baby if it wants to eat, and chances are it’ll just drool at you or start crying. Heck, tell a baby it just won a million dollars and it starts crying. Give a baby the entire set of high-def, CGI-enhanced original “Star Trek” episodes on DVD, totally free of charge, and the only thanks you’ll get is “WAAAA-HA-HAAAAA!!!”
What good are they? Just say “pass me the salt” at the dinner table, or something equally simple, and they just look at you like you were a warthog sitting on a bidet. Or make a simple request like “pardon me, but would you mind putting the cat out?” and you might as well be a giant dog dick in a Howdy Doody costume for all they care.
Oh sure, they don’t know how to walk yet–they’ll learn one of these days, just as soon as they get around to it. Right. I don’t remember all the way back to when I was a baby, but in the earliest memories that I do have, I was walking around. So I don’t buy this “I don’t know how to walk” crap.
And then there’s the whole “going to the bathroom in your pants” thing. What’s that all about? I mean, the biggest, dumbest doofus you know doesn’t stand there pounding out a log in his shorts while waiting for the bus. Even Gomer Pyle knew enough not to just let fly with a big geyser of whiz while Sergeant Carter was screaming at him. But babies? They never even heard of such quaint societal restraints. As long as someone dutifully keeps cleaning up after them, it’s blast-off time.
Babies are like trees–they just aren’t any use until they get bigger. What good is a one-foot-tall tree? “Great shade, huh?” your neighbor might proudly remark about his new tree. “No, Jim,” you’d be forced to inform him, “your stupid one-foot-tall tree does not provide great shade at all, you incredible moron.” Then you might suggest that he try to climb it, or pick some apples or pecans off of it. See what he does then. If he’s still out there by nightfall trying to do something useful with his stupid one-foot tree, call the police.
But that’s exactly how people are about their babies. They’ll invite you over to their house just to show you their baby, and they’ll say something like “Great baby, huh?” The only honest answer would be, “Great? What the hell’s it good for, Buckwheat?” or “Forget the friggin’ baby–when did you get this cool exer-cycle?” But of course, we’re not allowed to say things like that. We’re just supposed to wave at the baby and say, “Gootchy-goo!” while grinning like hyenas.
Babies don’t even make good doorstops, because they keep crawling away. If crawling were a useful activity, babies would be invaluable. But the last time “crawling” was a profitable occupation or an Olympic event or something like that was waaay, waaay back in, like, never. And if you try to train a baby to walk on two legs, forget it. Just by observing your attempts from across the room, your dog will be walking around the house on its hind legs while the baby’s still scuttling about under the coffee table and banging its head on the legs. It’s as though the word “duh” was invented just for them.
Of course, baby-defenders will ultimately pull the “cuteness” card on you. “Babies are CUTE!” they’ll shriek, tearfully aghast at your monstrousness. Well, that’s a matter of opinion. When it comes to nude centerfolds, for example, even Burt Reynolds was cuter than some dumb baby would be. Sorry, but “cute” and “babies” just don’t go together. Unless you’re the baby’s sweet old granny, and you’re already halfway off your rocker anyway.
Of course, if you have a baby yourself, then please disregard everything I just said. Your baby is cute. Really, really cute. It looks just like you. Gootchy-goo!