My Children Are Not The Content Mine I Imagined Them To Be
My ugly baby just sits there, doing nothing, being nothing, and most importantly: earning nothing.
Look at it. Just look at it. That’s my ugly baby, and he just sits there, doing nothing, being nothing, and most importantly: earning nothing.
Before my wife and I decided to go all in on the “content mine” known as starting a family, we had to take a good look at ourselves and ask, “What kind of child are we really going to get?” Was mashing our genitals together endlessly even worth it? And I don’t mean in a mental or physical well-being sense, lord no. I mean, will our children be a good on-camera presence? Running on the idea that the truest predictor of future results is past performance, we set to work on sifting through our family photos. Going back as far as we could, we learned that my dearly departed Aunt Alice — God rest her soul — can’t take a picture to save her fucking useless life, but that my wife’s family all have large heads and small bodies, or as we call it in the business: charisma. While you may see a freakish lollipop-looking ghoul, the camera sees MAGIC. The exact proportions needed to burst out of the screen to get those likes and subscribes.
