>Medealicious

>I have the maternal instincts of… well… of a dude. Maybe worse. Maybe not as bad as Medea, but getting there. Somewhere between Medea and a crotchety* old male bachelor. The kind who yells at kids to stay off his lawn. Therein lies my level of maternal whatevers.

There is a parasite masquerading as a miniature human being in the office. As soon as it entered in the arms of its host (or parent, however you wish to look at it), people rushed over to it and started doing that… thing… people do with babies. Cooing and speaking in chopped up retarded sentences and waggling their fingers in its face and stuff.

What’s the attraction?

I really don’t understand it. All babies seem to do is eat, poop, cry and sleep. Granted, once in awhile one of the little buggers will charm you with a smile, but I’ve seen dirty drunken idiots with vomit down the front of their shirts in the street pull off a charming smile and I don’t see anyone going over and tickling them under the chin.

Babies. Sick.

UPDATE:

Now it’s crying. Now it just needs to shit itself, eat something and sleep and it has finished everything on its to-do list.

*Heh heh. Crotch.

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