i want to fall in love

As a homosexual, I have no children because I’m still young enough to pick up trade in Manhattan gay bars with catchy names like “COCK”, “HOLE” or “URGE”. Thankfully, some genius added “THERAPY” to the mix, because no matter where we drink, that’s where we will all end up anyways. (Incidentally, I intend on naming my first gay bar “Mary McButtfucker’s” or “Stick It In My Ass”. It’ll have to be in the East Village, I guess.) When the rest of my hair falls out and my waist size sounds less like my age and more like the life expectancy of a Galapagos Turtle, I’ll land some poor worm and settle down with a nice Chinese baby.

But that doesn’t mean that I don’t already have an opinion on the matter, does it?

I grew up in a middle middle-class family. I also grew up in a home that understood the word “BANKRUPTCY”. We never had everything that we wanted, but we always had what we needed. We never went without necessities. (Or love, for that matter.) I was blessed long before the discussion of a wage was brought up.

For most of my childhood, I was given a $5.00 allowance. When you consider that this practice took place in the eighth decade of the 1900′s, that meager five spot was basically the equivalent of a down payment on the Hubble Telescope. I spent my weekly allowance at K-Mart or Maxway’s every Friday on a new He-Man action figure. Had my parents known that they were basically taking me to buy gay porn, they might have pushed me closer to the G.I. Joe aisle, but I digress. I HAD to work for that $5.00! And when you consider that I was earning $0.71 per day, I feel that my parents got the better end of the bargain.

Now, I know that there are many of you out there who are thinking, “The kid’s rent, food and utilities are paid for. It’s his/her job to be a responsible member of the family. I gave that kid LIFE!” Well, here’s my rebuttal: You did not give your child life. God did that. All you did was drink too much and invest in a faulty condom. The cost of raising a child should be something that people consider before casually eschewing birth control and sharing a little slap and tickle in Cancun. And for all of the money that you are spending on this child’s home, food and clothing, you may rest assured that he will make up that amount in spades while paying the psychologist that he will need to move past how badly you fucked the kid up while raising it.

Don’t forget that your child will be choosing the retirement home you’ll end up drooling through your twilight years in. My guess is that you’ll want them to be less tight-fisted than you were when figuring out what their janitorial services were worth. While you were telling your children to “get a job after school”, you forgot that they were already spending 8 hours a day busting their humps in school. That’s work. If you don’t have a second job, it’s a little unfair to ask a child to do the same. If you do have a second job, it’s likely because their father(s) are uninvested or has an online gambling addiction and you don’t believe in abortion. There couldn’t possibly be any other reason.

What I do not agree with is placing a price tag on a particular chore. The article refers to chores such as “setting the table” or “taking out the trash”. Are these really chores? Unless you are Catholic (thus, reside with more siblings than the population of some Chinese fishing villages) or live in a waste treatment facility, these are not chores. Detailing a family’s bathroom is a chore. I grew up with two brothers and a father who treated a toilet like a birthday pinata. They’d close their eyes, whip it out, turn around a few times and let the bat strike randomly. My poor mother was the only person in the house who didn’t have her own liquid waste on or surrounding a commode.

Paying a child an allowance demonstrates how the world operates. You provide a service–someone pays for it. This is vital to children. I suggest that you instill it as quickly as possible, or little Becky will continue to work her ass off while handing her pay to a man that she calls “Daddy”, but by then it won’t matter because she’ll be turning tricks with a black eye for a man with a gold tooth and an unnecessary cane. Don’t pimp your children, folks.

Your Favorite Demi-Blonde,