How Not to Raise a Filthy Whore

My #1 Goal for raising the Girl remains the same: Make sure she never appears naked in any kind of public setting. God forbid, if the Girl grew up to be a stripper, or a hooker, or a porn star, you have permission to shoot me dead on the spot. Actually, shooting me isn’t fast enough. Build a high-tech laser of some kind and vaporize me. And if you can’t find it in your heart to kill me, then at least blind me. Because, honestly, what good would my eyes be after that? Just the thought of it makes my sphincter clench.

Any man worth his salt knows that your garden-variety stripper got to be that way because Daddy didn’t pay enough attention to her. This scares the shit out of me. And if you have a Girl, it should scare the piss out of you, too. Thinking of playing golf this weekend? Well, that means your daughter could be one step closer to sleeping with strangers for money, because you weren't there for her. Think about that the next time you’re putting for birdie.

That’s not happening to me. I’m lavishing every bit of attention I can on the Girl. I feed her. I change her. I nuzzle her. I sing to her (she likes the early Maiden catalog). It probably looks creepy. I don’t care. Shit, I’d take her to church if it helped. And churches, as you know, are evil.

But there are times I slip. The other night I was holding the Girl when a special on hippos came on Animal Planet. Sounded cool. Then they showed footage of a crocodile stalking and eating a baby hippo. With extreme prejudice. Holy shit. I mean, holy fucking shit, that was sweet. Did you know crocodiles ate hippos? I didn’t. There should be an entire channel devoted to crocodiles eating hippos. That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. Hungry, hungry hippos don’t have shit on a hungry, hungry crocodile. Bad. Ass.

Then they showed two full-grown hippos fighting each other to the death! Holy Mega Shit! The Girl cried a bit. And I thought to myself, “Quiet, Girl. Nature is being awesome right now.” But quickly, my brain filled with every bad future thought imaginable. Hooker! Slut! Slutty slut! Swank magazine! Creepy gonzo porn! Gahhhh!!!!!! I hit the mute button and immediately began singing psalms to her.

I’ve also occasionally felt the urge to check my email or check this blog for comments (yeah, like that’ll ever happen) while the Girl is awake. I have to punch myself in the nuts every time this urge comes up. Maybe I should buy a crocodile and keep it outside the house. Don’t come knocking, Joe fucking Francis. My croc will go all hippo on you and shit.