Life Without Parole-On Being Born

On Being Born

You were born. You don’t remember this event. At least, not consciously. Somehow the trauma of squeezing through an opening smaller than the lid of a Campbell’s soup can has been erased from your mind. As a man you will spend many hours trying to reproduce that feat with at least some parts of your anatomy. Right now, however, you’re trying to figure out who the guy in the white smock is and why is he slapping your ass! You get cleaned up and spend a little time at the milk dispenser and you hear your dispenser talking to the guy in the white smock. Something about a circus or something like that. The next thing you know, you’re being strapped to a board and the guy in the smock is approaching you with a knife in his hand. “Don’t touch that!” you scream! But it doesn’t come out right. You’re too scared! You’re twelve hours old and this idiot is giving you a sex change operation! Without anesthesia! Oh cruel, cruel world!

One good thing about being born is that you’ve had to take a vicious dump for like months. Suddenly, you can just let ‘er rip! And peeing is even better than sex! Besides, you don’t know what sex is anyway! At least, now peeing is better than sex! Mr. Wiggly had to heal for a few days after the guy in the white smock got through with him! If you ever see that guy again you’ll hit him so hard, his children will be born with headaches. Extra skin your ass! Your milk dispenser has introduced herself. She says her name is Mom. You can’t talk with your mouth full. Some other guy comes in and tells you his name is Dad. You’re still hooked up to the dispenser and you look at him with a wary eye. “Stay away from my milk dispenser!” It still doesn’t come out right. You think this brand of milk is making your tongue numb.

Not long after Mr. Wiggly is healed from the trauma and pain of the board ordeal, Mom and Dad take you to a new place. They call it home. You just want Mom to open up the milk store. As a man, you will notice that there must be some correlation between your baby years and your adult years. That milk store will always be one of your favorite places. Who knew?

Anyway, “home” is a nice place. You don’t have to listen to the whining and crying of all of those other brats in that room where they made you sleep in a plastic bin. Now you sleep in a prison with bars on it. At least it has a bed! You don’t really mind, but you are always being bothered by Mom or Dad checking on you! They put their hands in your pants! You begin to think that Dad is a pervert and this Mom person is a nymphomaniac! “Hey, don’t touch tha……..oil?” Mom oils everything. Everything! Baby oil becomes one of your favorite things. Ranks right up there with the old milk dispenser.

One of your least favorite things is shit in your pants. How did this happen? The problem is that Mom and Dad won’t let you use the toilet. They force you to shit in your pants. This pisses you off! You have your pride you know! Yes, and you have to go #1 in those same pants! And don’t’ get you started on the pants! These are not pants! These things are really thick paper towels with Velcro! You can’t be fooled by the little blue storks all over your ass! These are not pants! These people say they love you, but would anyone who loves you make you shit right in your own pants? No!

You are slowly getting used to “home” now, but the Mom and the Dad brought in a new guy. He says his name is Grampa. What the hell kind of name is that? Then comes a new woman person. Gramma. Are you people serious? Grampa and Gramma? What happened to George and Gracie? Lucy and Desie? Mr. Ed and Wilbur! You are warming up to Gramma though. She says she loves you and you can have anything you want. You want her to take off your pants and let you take a good shit in the toilet. Damn! Another paper towel! They call them diapers!

So far, you’ve met Gramma, Grampa, Uncle Frank, Aunt Edna and some kid named Billy. Billy dug his grubby little fingers into your side. He said something stupid like “tickle tickle!” You tried to say, “Hands off, Meathead!” but your mouth just doesn’t seem to be working right! Gotta have that checked!

You finally got over your inhibitions and just let one fly and took one of the most satisfying dumps of your short life while Gramma was holding you. Mom said look, “He’s smiling!” which you were, but Gramma said, "no dear, that’s gas!" Gas! You only have gas when you have pizza and you can’t remember the last time you had pizza! “No, dipstick, I’m smiling!” This Gramma person is nice, but she’s not too bright!

On the whole, being born didn’t suck too bad! You get like 5 squares a day. The food is a little bland but the fruit is tasty and the milk dispenser is better than steak and lobster! A couple of things, though. You are concerned that you don’t have any teeth. Won’t you be needing those soon? You’re feeling like a good pork chop ought to be on the menu or at least a nice leg of lamb! Can you buy teeth? Oh well. Your other concern is still this whole bathroom/toilet problem. You need some answers. You need closure! You’re a person! Are you sure you can buy teeth?