Over the weekend, the wife and I invited some friends over to The Iron Mike Compound for a barbecue. Usually, our barbecues are comprised of a little meat, lots of liquor, a little weed, and lots of adult fun. This time however, a new ingredient was added to the mix -- KIDS.
Upon sending out the Evite for the shindig, I forgot to mention that children are not welcome. I guess when you're 36 and most of your friends hover around the same age, not not inviting children is the same as inviting children. It's sad, but true.
So, as soon as I lit up my Weber and poured a fresh Stoli Red Bull, the first parent/child combo arrived. The parent had that uncomfortable smile that said, "I hope this is OK." The child had that devious grin that said, "I'm gonna fuck your place up."
The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by tiny terrors shitting and pissing, spreading germs, crying and screaming, talking to me, biting and fighting, and destroying what I thought was going to be a delightful night of debauchery.
What was worse than the kids was the parents. Usually, at my parties, the focus is on me and my wacky antics. This time, the focus was on the precious little ones and how precious they are. Usually, at my parties, the conversations are based around porn and dick jokes. This time, the conversations were based around day care and diapers.
I understand that, to some people, procreation is the reason we were put on this Earth. What I don't understand is how, just because they procreate, some people become assholes. They become incapable of looking beyond their world of Dora The Explorer and Thomas the Tank Engine and remembering that they were once cool. They become incapable of determining how not to infringe upon the fun of their friends.
My wife and I don't have kids. Our reasons for this vary - we're selfish, we're lazy, we don't like children, etc. Still, at a certain point, we're probably going to feel the need to spread our seed. When we do, I can promise you one thing - we won't be bringing our kids to adult barbecues. Amen!
3 comments:
Don't tell me I can bring my kid, then write about how I did it without asking. My kid was one of the more interesting things at your boring fucking barbeque. The invitation didn't say anything about being attacked by a dog, either. Dog owners suck.
I agree with 'youknowwhoiam'. Its pretty lame to shit on the few people that actually came to your stupid party. Perhaps you were disappointed that you weren't the only one pooping in your pants now.
Iron Mike reigns supreme ... no matter how old I get or how many kids I have, I won't forget what Iron Mike is all about. But just one question for you: so, you'd say it would be a bad idea to bring our kid to the 10-year anniversary party? :)
Rock on!
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