PARENTING.

There’s something about parenting that worries me more than a barista in training making my latte (They NEVER get it right!). I used to go on and on about how much I wanted children. My paternal ambitions were partially an attempt to trigger a hot girl’s maternal instincts, but the majority of me genuinely wanted to be responsible for bringing another human being into this “wonderful” world. Then it hit me, the world sucks.

I’m sure every generation of parents had their obstacles, but due to my lack of time machine I’m just going to stick with the present. For starters, go to any news site and read the first five headlines. On any given day, 3 out of 5 will have something to do with the collapse of our global economy, international feuds and/or the latest everyday object that's silently killing you with cancer. And that’s just the foundation of my fatherly fears.

Let’s examine our children’s role models? Little girls can't seem to get enough of that the multi-personality disorder Salvia toker known as Miley “Hanna Montana” Cyrus. If the thought of your little princess (or effeminate prince) idolizing this trailer park mainstay isn’t enough to make your skin crawl, what about that filth named Ke$ha? Although Ke$ha will most likely overdose on drugs and STDs before I procreate, somewhere behind some record producer's studio is a dumpster full gutter skanks willing to suck off anyone necessary to take her place. And it would take no less than five posts to address the messes on VH1 and MTV, so I’m just going encapsulate ALL of my disgust (and trust me, there’s a lot of it) into one word, “Snooki.”

WARNING: THIS IS SOMEONE'S DAUGHTER!

It’d be one thing if you could shelter your innocent darlings from such horrific (or whorrific) influences, but that's next to impossible in our over-connected society. You would have to home school your children in a 4th World Country to avoid their moral contamination. And I dare you to physically discipline your little angel if they get out of line. If you so much as sternly ask your child to, “please behave," Social Services will kick down your door like you're harboring terrorists. Terrorists who spank their children. However, I think they look the other way on waterboarding.

"I want you to know I'm mildly disappointed in you. Now go finish your ice cream."

And don’t even get me started on the state of organized sports. If Little Johnny puts down the Wii-mote long enough to summon the arm strength it takes to aimlessly swing a bat at a tee, he’s immediately showered with trophies, juice boxes and Little Debbie snacks. In the future, sporting events will be a test of player attendance. May the most participatory team win!

CONGRATULATIONS! You're reading my blog!

Point of story, if it weren’t for beacons of perfection like the lovely Taylor Swift, I’d be scheduling my vasectomy right this second. If a candid up-skirt picture of Ms. Swift stumbling out of a sports car ever pops up on TMZ, it’s “snip snip” for me.

"Never mind that rustling, Taylor. It's just me and my binoculars."