The Crybabies

We are all crybabies in one way or another. When we complain, we are being crybabies because we do not have the direct ability to change the things we are complaining about. When we are sad, we are being crybabies, because we are telling ourselves that we deserve better. Even when we are the Prime Minister we are being crybabies, because we have absolutely no balls to do anything significant, and are basically some loser who was miraculously made the PM and is now about to lose his seat, so complains about everyone, including the ministers of his very own government.

A courageous person is someone who moves beyond complaining to doing something. I complain about dirty water—do I have the balls to try to change it?

[Lots of other rambling that probably won’t make sense because I need to wake up early tomorrow and I am way beyond midnight]

So anywho, babies seem to be scared of me. I make funny faces, I jump around like a monkey to entertain them, I even take their pictures and show them the pic to ask if they like it, and they are still scared of me. They want to go to their mommies and eat spicy pickles, and try to steal from my plate when I’m eating.  Hey dumbaby, where were you when I actually cared about you? I am so over you. Don’t come to me ever again, k?

But babies are cute. I go to them again, and do stupidly surprisingly things, so they get interested in finding out what crazy act I will do next, and stop crying. Sometimes I jump, sometimes I make  irritating noises, pretending it’s a song I just reinvented, and sometimes I mimic them till they are so bugged that they start crying again.

That is where it always ends. ALWAYS. They cry. Their mother has to come to take care, and loll them, and rock them, and put to sleep.

Stupid crybabies.