Get Off My Lawn #54 | My son often looks at me like I got something on my face
Today’s episode is mostly about having kids and how they go from being cute guys who say crazy things to thinking you’re an idiot. Having them hang out with kids who have nannies doesn’t help. I worry that it teaches a culture where adults are your servants. I wonder how the children of these nannies feel about their mom being away. Anyway, this heavy subject matter is peppered with stories about drawing on someone’s face when they’re passed out.
My son often looks at me like I got something on my face.
It's starting to piss me off.
Like imagine you had someone wrote on your nose fag and you were talking to someone.
Imagine how the other person would do that thing.
You know that thing where you're trying not to smile and you sort of contort your face?
Handy tip if you're doing that, you pretend your neck hurts.
So say someone has a rude word on their face.
You sort of, you just, and you don't want to smile.
You sort of go, ah, God, my neck.
Ow, yikes.
And it lets your cheeks do a smile.
So you get a few smile points like, ah, yeah, yeah, my neck.
Wow.
Really hurts.
Yeah.
And you get your yi-yas out, as my friend Mick Jagger would say.
But he looks at me like that.
What is going on here?
This is the thing about being a dad, though, is say you are, say you're out.
Say no one likes you anymore and you're now in the teenager phase where being the corrections officer has X'd you and now you're just Mr. Bad Guy.
You have to go, oh well, I'm Mr. Bad Guy.
I got to take, you know, 10 years off until I'm popular again.
No hugs, no kisses.
I think a lot of dads can't handle that.
They go, why are you looking at me like I have fag on my nose?
It made me feel insignificant.
You just have to go, oh, you don't like me anymore?
Oh well.
I guess we got another 14, 15 years before we're buddies again.
Because it's bedtime.
And no, you can't play Fortnite.
That's the rule.
Oh my God, you're not going to believe this.
Those fuckers outsmarted me.
And it's pretty embarrassing.
I told you I made a lockbox for all the iPads and phones and everything with a screen and all the PS4 stuff, the Xbox stuff, all locked in there.
And then I felt great.
And then today I stayed at home and I'm working at my little home office.
And I turn around and my son and his friend, also named Gavin, this is a guy, by the way, who has 10 girlfriends, who I later confronted.
And I go, come on, let's cut the shit.
You don't have 10 girlfriends.
And he goes, I never said I had 10 girlfriends.
Maybe four.
It's pretty impressive, dude.
Four girlfriends, huh?
Any Hizzle.
I turn around and they're playing Fortnite.
And I go, where'd you get the controller?
And Johnny, my five-year-old, goes, from the top.
I didn't fasten the top.
It wasn't secure.
The shelf builder who built our closet thought we're just storing clothes on there.
And that was a perfectly reasonable thing to think, Mr. Carpenter, if you're out there listening.
The top just pops up.
It's just gravity holding that shelf there.
So these kids, for the past five days, have been sneaking in there, sneaking iPads.
And it was only today when Johnny got sloppy and he had an iPad this morning that I go, what the hell?
It's at the breakfast table.
He's got an iPad.
And I go, what the hell's going on here?
I just grab it from him.
And he's watching someone play a video game, as is a young man's want these days.
And my wife had been kind enough to go, get up super early, go out, probably because she likes being alone.
Again, all the nice American Indians are dead.
So the ones that we're left with are pretty, they want to be alone.
They want to be left alone.
So she goes and she bought coffee and shit and donuts for the kids.
So he's eating a beautiful Simpson-style chocolate donut with sprinkles on it.
And I take it away and he just goes, ah!
Scottish temper.
And he flips the donut upside down.
So the sticky side now, the chocolate side's on the table, and just starts going, smashing his own donut, his own hopes and dreams, his own joy, smashing that into the ground.
All right, you win.
I shouldn't be mocking him.
I do that all the time.
I punch holes in my own wall, my own door, and then I have to go and get a talented tradesman because fixing a hole in the wall is very tricky.
I have to get a talented tradesman to fix the fucking hole.
Anyway, I noticed that, you know, there had been an abundance of stolen exhibit A's, a lot of evidence from the evidence room, which I was under the impression was under lock and key.
They were just reaching in from the top.
So yes, I'm embarrassed that that didn't occur to me.
If it's any constellation of stars, I have now screwed in about 10 screws.
So the top is solid.
And I was professional enough to screw them in from the bottom.
I got the right measurements so you don't see big screw heads when you look at the top shelf.
All right, so we're back on track.
Everything is fine.
Although I don't know where my daughter's phone is right now.
What a goddamn mess.
By the way, speaking of writing fag on your nose, did I ever tell you about the time my brother, he got so shithammered, this is a very Canadian story, that he woke up in a park.
What the hell?
You know that when you were super blackout drunk and then at maybe like six, five or six, you just go and all of a sudden it's like time traveling.
All of a sudden, oh, that's a joke that, what's her name?
Amy Schumer stole from the guy with the big schnauz who did after David Tell.
He said blackout drinking is like time traveling, but it really is.
You wake up, where am I?
And you're at some chick's house.
You're on some dude's floor, often covered in pee as you get older.
I knew of these one guys who woke up and they were in a car.
They were driving on the highway.
Everyone in the car fell asleep, the passenger, the people in the back.
The driver Then fell asleep and they went off the highway.
Thank the Lord they weren't in a big city.
The story is kind of macabre as you get older.
I used to think the story was funny when I was a kid, but the driver woke up and he was in a screensaver, basically, for your computer, a beautiful, pastoral, nice, you know, finely mowed meadow with a mountain in the background.
And he went, what the fuck?
The dungeon junge drove over the grass, hearing like tang tittling and parts falling off.
And then made it home.
Everyone's still asleep.
Eventually, people like slowly wake up and go from the car into the house and crash the remaining three hours there.
Then they come out and they're in a great mood because they had a nice drive home and everything was fine.
And they have some breakfast, make some coffee, and then one of them goes outside and they runs back in and goes, dude, someone vandalized your car last night.
And then everyone runs outside and they saw that these some silent vandals with, I guess, thick rubber bats had come in and beat his car to shit while they were sleeping.
Maybe quietly, sort of, you know, hitting it like a football player with his shoulder, just but quietly.
And then the Lord, when you get blackout drunk, he hands you Polaroids over the course of the day.
And he goes, this was you.
Sort of like the F-ending montage of Hangover 2 with the credits.
He just sort of hands you Polaroids and you go, wait a minute.
I remember being in a screensaver.
Wait a minute.
Dudes, we weren't vandalized.
We are vandalized.
We vandalized ourselves.
We self-vandalized.
We almost died.
And then they go, holy shit, yes.
I wonder if they went back to the scene of the crime.
But anyway, so my brother wakes up at the park and he runs over.
And I think there was a homeless man that was maybe trying to diddle him or something.
I think he was asleep on a bench and he woke up because a homeless man put his hand on his leg.
And he's like, get the fuck off of me.
The guy was like, okay, buddy, relax, eh?
I didn't know you hated love.
Just trying to say hello.
It's not a crime to want to kiss a dude.
So he goes, holy shit.
And he looks at his watch.
So I guess it wasn't six.
It probably was like eight.
You know, you're fucking wasted when you come to at eight or nine or even ten.
That's bad news.
So because that means the booze has been in ambient mode.
And believe me, ambient can make you say racist things about black people.
Ambient mode well into the 10s and 11s.
Wow.
You drank a bottle.
So he wakes up and he goes, what the fuck?
And he starts running.
His job was to run an internet cafe.
So let's say it's 9 o'clock and it was supposed to open at 8.
Maybe let's say 10.
It was 10 o'clock.
I'm getting worse at these stories as I get older.
And he's sprinting down Bank Street in Ottawa.
What the fuck?
I'm dead.
I'm dead.
I'm so fired.
And as he's running, he gets there, expecting to have to open the steel gate.
But the owner is there.
He sussed it out that no one was there.
And he came in on his own and opened it on his own.
Not thrilled.
He's not particularly jazzed about the fact that the store wasn't open.
So my brother runs in and he goes, hi, look, I'm sorry I'm late.
I had to file a police report.
I was mugged on the way to work today.
I was in control.
I was awake early, had a shower, breakfast, delicious breakfast.
I had kind of an English breakfast.
I had fried tomatoes.
And I made it here on time.
And then one of these goddamn, I'll be honest, it was a black.
One of these goddamn blacks.
I'm just kidding.
He didn't say that.
One of these goddamn homeless people mugged me and he had a gun.
I don't know where he got a gun in Ottawa, but he had a gun.
I'm not, word to, my hand to God.
I'm not lying to you.
And the owner of the store goes, I think you're lying to me.
And my brother goes, what?
Do you want me to get the police report?
You want me to bring the cop back in here?
And his boss goes, you know, you don't have to do that.
I know you're lying.
And my brother goes, what the hell's the matter with you?
I could have been murdered.
I've just nearly escaped death.
I've been dealing with the police, dealing with the law.
And your takeaway is that I'm a dishonest person?
And his boss goes, yes.
And then my brother's just shaking his head.
And then his boss goes, maybe go to the bathroom, have a look in the mirror.
My brother goes to the mirror.
And he realizes why people are dubious of his story.
The following is true of his face.
He has no eyebrows, none to speak of.
He has hand-drawn mascara eyebrows.
He has rosy red cheeks that are not done with blush or foundation or anything else, any other sort of rouging concealment.
He has cheeks that are done with lipstick.
He also has a beautiful, bright red pair of bee-stung lips.
And across his forehead is a giant cock, a sharpie penis that's well done.
You know, they had time.
They added veins.
I believe the penis was circumcised, if I recall correctly.
There may have been fluid drawn coming out of the penis, but it had turgid balls that were ready to go, somewhat hursuit.
They had sporadic hairs coming out of the scrotal sac, not unlike an alien's head.
That was on his forehead, and he realized, all right, I guess you got me.
I'm fucking lying.
I clearly passed out.
How weird.
They didn't draw on him when he was at the park, so they must have drawn on him at the party, and then he got up, and they thought, uh-oh, this is, we're about to get beat up.
And then he must have left the party, maybe sensed that he was being drawn on, and then passed out on a bench on the way.
I remember when I was a young punker, we used to live with this band called the Trapped with a T, and there was a Native American, but they're Canadians there.
I don't know.
We used to, let's just call them fucking Indians, please.
First Nations, actually.
An Aboriginal Canadian man of the native descents.
Les Maisan was his name.
He was a tough guy.
I think he's a postman now.
But he passed out, and me and my buddy Steve drew all over his face.
We covered 100% of his face with vaginas, bums, dinks.
I just saw these kids arrested for racist graffiti, and they were doing swastikas and writing faggot, and they were calling their African-American person of color principal the N-word.
And that's very rude.
I'm not advocating that, obviously.
But if you're a young vandal, what are you supposed to write?
I hit all of my teachers.
The principal's an absolute jerk.
Those kind of people don't vandalize their school and smash windows.
If you're in the bathroom stall, you're not going to write farty bum bum.
You're going to draw a swastika and a penis.
That's what one does.
So we covered Les' face with all manner of epithets and aspersions towards the homosexual community.
We also drew a phallus and many vaginas.
It was really packed.
If you're familiar with the Bon Dessine, it would be as dense as an Henriette de Vallium drawing.
And Les woke up and we were asleep when he woke up.
And I woke up to him grabbing the cuff of like, not my cuffs.
I had a t-shirt on, but like grabbing my t-shirt and pulling my face up to his face.
And his face was bright red.
Even for a red skin, it was alarmingly red.
And that's because he had been sitting there scrubbing Sharpie off his face with a washcloth, which really takes some gusto.
You basically have to take off the first two layers of skin to get that Sharpie off.
And he was real mad.
So he grabbed my ankle, very strong big man.
He was like the Indian in one floor of the cuckoo's nest.
He grabbed the sort of, not my ankle, but like the cuff of my ankle, so my jeans where my ankle was.
And then he just ran around the house.
He did the same to Steve, the other guy.
He might have even done both of us at the same time for a little bit, but I was solo at the beginning of this.
I was dragged behind a truck, basically.
Upstairs, downstairs, from room to room.
And when someone is running in and out of rooms, holding you by the ankle, you hit 100% of the furniture in the room.
You don't miss one corner of one table.
You don't miss one bedpost.
You get beat up by a house.
It's like furniture is sitting there going, is this the guy Les?
And Les is like, yep, that's the guy, eh?
That's the guy that drew a bunch of dinks on my face.
Can you guys take care of him?
And the furniture goes, no problem, buddy.
Just, we obviously can't move because we're inanimate objects.
But if you bring him to us, we'll make sure that his entire body has black and blue penises and vaginas and swastikas and faggots all over it.
It was very painful.
But as I was being carried around that room and beat by furniture, I couldn't help but think to myself, them's the brakes.
That's what happens when you vandalize.
Like the time I told you about when we were whipping snowballs at cars and jumping behind the bushes, and then Brian Cook got caught and this East Indian gentleman said, what are you doing, buddy?
And he just fucking smacked him in the face.
That's the price we pay.
We knew that as vandals.
A lot of people, you see this, like these guys that rob stores and they get shot and then the relatives go, you didn't have to sh kill him.
He should have just shot him in the knee.
No, you roll the dice on that roulette table.
This is why I hate this whole call the cops thing and suing people stuff.
That's the deal.
You know, if you destroy stuff, you get in trouble.
I remember one time we had this crazy rule in high school.
You had to commit 13 acts of vandalism before you could go to a party.
So if Tammy Conkle's parents were away, you do that too, by the way.
You remember everyone's entire name?
Kevin Jessup, Darren Alberti.
If Tammy Conkle's parents were away, great.
Can't wait to go, but obviously we have to do 13 things.
Nothing drastic.
No bricks through windows, just like people's lawn furniture into their pool.
And if anyone has a nice lattice system where they're growing vines, that has to be stamped to the ground.
And they didn't have dogs in our little suburb, middle-class suburb of Kanata, Ontario.
So if the cops came and you hid behind a bush and you were patient, you'll probably be okay.
I remember one time getting caught by the cops for one of those.
And I thought, we have been drinking.
We might get breathalized.
So as the cop was talking, I slowly reached down.
As I was answering his questions, I slowly reached down.
This is the kind of shit your 16-year-old brain tells you is reasonable.
I slowly reached down and grabbed two huge handfuls, one with each hand, of grass.
And then as I was saying, I don't know what you're talking about, officer, I slowly filled my mouth up with the grass like a cow.
So all the grass is hanging out of my mouth.
I just started going and chewing the grass while answering questions, assuming this sort of, I don't know, gastric acid would obfuscate the alcohol when the breathalyzer inevitably came along.
Didn't work.
We got taken in.
They called our parents.
My dad made me go to that guy's house and apologize.
We had to rebuild his lattice thing, which is a pain in the ass for the guy, too.
Like, I'm sure the vines took months to regrow.
He doesn't want a bunch of strange kids in his backyard.
It should have been, you have to rebuild my thing and tend to it, and I get to punch you all in the face four times.
That seems like a reasonable punishment.
You know, my dad beat the shit out of a vandal.
It's still on his criminal record.
There were these kids running through backyards doing exactly what I just described.
And my dad woke up, jumped out the window, nude.
I think I wrote about this in my book.
And they all went, what the fuck?
And no one is used to seeing an old man run at them with his pendulous penis.
And the McInnes's are remarkably well in doubt.
So it looks like a naked man and a snake is chasing you at the same time.
That's double the scary.
And they ran up the slide.
The slide for our pool, yes, I'm middle class.
When you got to the top of the slide, you were right next to the fence to the neighbors, the reeds, they were called.
So most of them made it over.
He grabbed the last one, whipped him down, and just started fucking pounding him and pounding him and punching him in the face.
And he got charged for assault on a little boy.
First of all, you're 14.
You're not a little boy.
Sorry, George Soros.
When you're helping the Nazis, you were a man.
If you're 14, you're responsible for your own actions.
And secondly, it's sort of like that game with the knife where you go, you know that, ow, ooh.
Ooh, ow.
Ow, ow, ooh.
Ow, ooh.
You know that game?
When you stab yourself in the finger, we're done here.
It's actually like cutters.
You know those girls who cut themselves?
Perfect.
You're annoying.
You're self-obsessed.
I think you shouldn't be punished.
Oh, you just cut yourself.
Okay, we're good.
We're judge, jury, and executioner all in one case.
I don't need to intervene, young lady.
Thank you for your hard work.
So if a bunch of guys go out vandalizing and they get beaten up by a naked geriatric who looks like Groundskeeper Woolly with AIDS, then that's the game.
Someone got a knife in the finger.
Done.
Settled.
We don't need to do anything else.
It's like my buddy Trevor when we were at a bar, plant bar, and it was our friend's bar, all these Irish immigrants, and one of them comes up to his girlfriend, Stacey, and he goes, what's your favorite sexual possession?
Hey?
And Trevor doesn't like that question, obviously.
So he grabs the guy, Casey, what's his name?
I forget his name.
I can remember names from grade school way better.
Finnegan Flanagan or something?
He grabs him, strangles him, and actually picks him up by his neck and then throws him down.
Not like picks him up dangling feet.
We're all sitting in a booth, but like rises him from his sitting position with the neck and then shoves him back down.
The bouncers come over, kick out Trevor.
Stacy leaves.
And then he wanted to fight me because I didn't leave with him.
But I thought, Casey's our friend, assuming that's his name.
We're in his bar, like his friend's bar.
This is our bar.
He said something inappropriate.
You strangled him.
You got kicked out.
I think we're all good here.
Like, if someone just kicked you out for no reason, I'd run by your side and hold your hand.
But this is, I didn't feel like I was being disloyal.
I felt like, yeah, well, you took it a little far and you got kicked out.
Handled.
So much of this shit is just handled, don't you think?
Noah, I need to sue you.
We need to press charges.
That's the big thing at rallies.
Tommy Robinson's rally is today.
We're all going to go to the British Embassy and yell, I had nothing to do with it.
So it could be a flop, and that will piss me off.
I hate when people set things up and don't do them well.
And that's why I never like setting things up.
Because to make sure it's good, you can't just put out like a flyer.
You have to call the people.
Are you coming?
Are you sure you're coming?
Text everyone.
Whether it's a party or a demonstration or whatever it is, you have to spend some real time.
I remember seeing Bob Geldoff.
I don't know how much money he raised for South Africa, sorry, for Africa with live aid.
It was either $7 million, $70 million, or $700 million.
Some sort of a seven, some sort of a million.
And I remember seeing an article about him in Rolling Stone.
He had all these papers everywhere and he's on the phone all the time.
That's how you make it happen.
That's why, by the way, at any of my old companies, I always hated when they said, we should have a party.
We should organize a party.
No.
The pros are people come to the party, have a kind of good time.
It's going to be way over budget, by the way.
And they go, yeah, that company's okay.
They're not going to not be your client because you didn't have a party, but they will not be your client if your party's a total flop and there's like a fat chick there and two gay guys and a nerd who is trying to talk to you about what can cause more damage an axe or a sword if you were to attack someone.
That's a terrible party that's bad for your brand.
So the cons are a long Santa Claus list of everyone who's naughty and no one who's nice.
And the pros are maybe the client or the people or whatever will think you're a little bit cooler, maybe?
Not really.
No, thank you.
So tomorrow's demonstration could be bad for Tommy if these guys fucked up.
Sorry, today's demonstration.
Yes.
I had to watch the time here.
It's actually 12.20 a.m.
I'm recording this.
But yeah, I think one of the reasons my son is looking at me like I'm stupid, first of all, there's baseball.
So he's a baseball expert now, and I just, sorry, I have got other things to do than learn a whole new language.
So I'll say things like, so are they going into overtime with this?
How many points do they have?
And then he'll give me this cocked eyebrow like, what the fuck did you just say?
Or I'll even say, what was it the other day?
So did they just all have to get walked off?
Because it was the end?
Was it a walked off?
And apparently it's a walk off.
And he looks at me like I just said, are bears my friend?
Because I like polar bears and I want to ride one around the North Pole.
And I think it might be, maybe I've said this before, forgive me if I have, but he's hanging out with these kids who have nannies.
And the nannies are fucking slaves.
I'm sorry.
Nannies are fucked up.
The whole concept is depraved, as Barbara Ehrenreich explained in the book Global Woman.
Best case scenario is an au pair.
She's a young French girl, ugly, so you're not attracted to her.
And she's here because she wants to explore America and she needs a place to live and she doesn't have any money and she'll cook and clean and drive you around.
Okay, I get that.
Kind of wish mom could have been around though.
That seems like mom would be better.
No, mom has a really successful job.
Oh, good.
Okay, so she's generating more money.
Yeah, she's making like 200 grand a year.
Okay, and she's making more money for what again?
So that they can have a good life.
Okay, and what's in a good life?
Oh, things you need, like a boat.
Okay, how about we forgo the stupid fucking boat?
Rent a boat when you need one for 50 bucks, and the kids get a mom.
No, but this one's an oncologist.
She's saving people's lives.
Yeah, that's pretty much the best argument you got.
And I don't know.
How about she improves her own children's life rather than help some stranger beat cancer, which I'm starting to suspect is just a complete roll of the dice.
If you don't get it, nip it right in the butt.
Any hissle.
But for the most part, it's these third world nannies.
And they're like, okay, you want to stay here?
He wants to stay here.
Can you drive Mr. Sean home, maybe?
Can you drive?
Yeah, I guess.
I hate to be rude, but how long have you been here in America?
Oh, Purdy Pie Beer.
Purdy Pie beer, huh?
Hmm.
If I lived in Guatemala for Purdy Pie beers, I would be the president of Guatemala, and I'd be a poet who taught Guatemalan, not Spanish, to immigrants.
Any hisle.
Sorry, I just said any hisle twice.
That fucking really annoyed me.
I'll go get you an empanada and I'll come back.
Maybe Mr. Gavin drive you home.
Yeah, whatever.
But what's scary about that is these third-world nannies, they come here and they fall in love with your children because they're not with their children.
And I think they fall out of love with their own children.
Sorry to be so fucking dark on a chirpy little podcast, but I think it's macabre.
What we're doing, it's goth.
We're importing love from the third world.
And these children back in Guatemala or the Philippines or even Mexico, I mean, all of Central America, parts of South America, Brazil, there's lots of nannies up here.
Mostly old pairs, I guess, without children.
Poland, all these third world babies without mommies.
Yes, but she's making tons of money.
I mean, she's making basically six months salary every month.
Okay, congratulations.
And what does this translate to?
Oh, the kids at home have a PS4.
They got brand new Nike Air Jordan skateboards.
Yeah, but no one else does.
All the kids without nannies.
And kids don't give a shit about any of that.
Kids don't even care about shoes.
They get thicker skin on the bottom of their feet.
When I was a kid in the 70s, you often would just go outside without your shoes.
By the time summer was done, the bottom of our feet were shoes.
We would stop our bikes because our brakes would break.
B-R-A-K-E would B-R-E-A-K.
And we didn't care because you just slide with your leather feet that you had made over the course of the summer.
Surfers in Costa Rica, in my little surfer town where I used to live, none of those guys would wear shoes.
They'd be walking on rocks and gravel roads.
You figure it out.
Kids want a mom.
They don't want accoutrements.
And the kids are turning into assholes because they're talking to a slave all day.
So there's no such thing as discipline.
They just go, yeah, Maria, I'm going to need an empanada like now.
Or I'm going to tell my dad.
No problem, Mr. Baby Boy.
I'll help you right away.
I don't want to get fired.
Yeah, you don't.
And I'm kind of curious why I'm playing Fortnite and my hand looks like this.
And he holds out his hand in a sort of a C-shape.
I'm sorry, Mr. Mr. Darren.
I don't understand.
I don't have a Dr. Pepper in my hand.
So let's rectify that.
ASAP, okay?
Yes, yes, I get you, Dr. Pepper.
Yes, please.
Yes, yes.
It's indentured servitude, really.
And it's making my son look at me weird.
So I got my nine-year-old thinks I'm a loser, a dick, a jerk.
My daughter, she's 11, she's drifting away too.
Although, I got to say, that thing I talked about before, the allotted time, with my son, I'll say, all right, we're going to school together.
I don't care if we walk, take a bike, whatever.
We're spending time.
Sometimes that's just silence for the whole way there.
That's fine.
I'll take it.
And then sometimes it's like, did you know who the tallest baseball player in the world was?
And then with the girl, silence, silence at the dinner table.
I've already said this on the show before, but it's still true.
So it's worth updating.
Hey, sweetie, let's take your dog for a walk.
Just walking down the street, walk around the block, verbal diarrhea, blah, buddy, blah, blah, blah, talking about school, all kinds of stuff.
You have to get them alone as a parent.
They don't want to go.
If you suggest to a five-year-old, let's go for a walk, it's like saying, do you want to audit our neighbors and check their taxes over the past three years?
But then once they start cooking, they can't get enough.
And I think this is a difficult thing to quantify.
And Lauren Southern has actually been pretty wise about that for a post-pubescent kid.
Sorry, Lauren.
A lot of people say they're less happy since they had kids.
And the trick there is the scope, the spectrum of happiness has expanded.
So when you hear your friends with kids complain, and right now you're listening to me going, I don't want Some guy give me the stink eye?
What you raise a kid and he looks at you like you're stupid?
Fuck that, man.
I'd rather just play my own Fortnite at home for six hours, even though I'm 36 years old.
Well, that's actually the average age of a video game player, so you're good.
I'm like a master pianist.
Not penis, pianist.
And I'm frustrated that I can't do box concerto blindfolded.
So I am technically frustrated, yes.
But I have this incredible vocabulary of songs.
I can play in the piano at will, at any time.
Massive grand piano.
Understand this is an analogy.
I have no musical talent whatsoever.
So yes, parents are frustrated and they covetch and they complain.
And same with married people.
Oh, my wife.
But it's because we've tasted such incredible joy that we're constantly frustrated all the time, that we can't be better, that we're not making our sons go-karts and we're not making our girls dollhouses with a little bathroom and a bath in it.
We could do better.
But compared to being childless, you know, being single and saying you're happy, and I'm not talking to 21-year-olds or anyone young.
Of course you're having fun.
I'm not saying you should all be married and breeding.
I'm talking about those older childless ones who hear us complaining and saying, my son looks at me weird.
And other people go, I don't know why he had a kid.
Oh, I don't know, because tonight I watched my son steal four bases at once.
He had an okay hit at first.
They fucked up the catch at first.
He was confident they would screw up the throw to second.
And they did.
He got to third and they caught the ball, but he's already at third.
But then the guy that he had just driven home was headed home.
So the third baseman threw the ball to home.
I think that missed.
I'm screwing up the story here.
You see, I don't know baseball that well.
But he managed to not only get that guy home by forcing him, but also he got home.
Boom, boom.
He pushed up the game two points and they got closer to the Stanley Cup of baseball, where you win a giant gold baseball that's being held by a human hand of someone who was on death row, and he donated his hand, and what they do is they dip the hand in gold.
They stick a baseball in it, then they dip the whole thing again in gold, then they spray it with polyurethane, and they cauterize the wounds, and then they stick a long spike in the bottom of that that they plop into a pedestal that says, Stanley Cup of Baseball.
And that's how you win the National Major League Baseball Championships of the World Series today.
That's it, folks.
We're out of time.
Get off my lawn.
Monday to Thursday, Monday to Tuesday, depending on the week.
Next week, CRTV tonight, we'll have Lauren Southern on, The Lovely Lauren.
And she'll be talking about her new documentary about South Africa, which is hair-whiteningly shocking and shows the massive disconnect we have these days with the narrative, the way we're all taught things, the way we all understand things, and the actual truth.
This is true of America.
Oh, we killed the Indians, stole their land, and then had slaves build it up.
No, that's not what happened.
With South Africa, oh, the white people went there, stole the land, and now some black people said I want it back.
Nope, that's not even close to the truth.
And the reappropriation is much more horrific than you could ever imagine.
Don't even Google image it, please.
You regret it.
It's like abortion.
I would say to these pro-choice people, just keep with your myth.
Don't Google image what you believe in.
And what's really important is that I encourage you to put a ring on it when you're in your late 20s and have some of these kids.
Because I know I tell a lot of negative stories, like locking their iPads and getting a stink eye, but that is everything that's important to me.
And I actually love the whole process.
I love the pain, the suffering.
I love being the bad guy.
I love seeing them develop.
I love seeing them.
I even like it when they're mad at me.
It's like they're growing.
And it's a fun thing to watch.
And I don't want it to end.
I wish I could just sort of line witch in the wardrobe this phase with my kids and just have them be this way forever.
