Strollers are weapons of mass destruction. At the L.A. County Fair, parents used their offspring as an excuse to bruise and scratch total strangers. But the problem isn't the strollers of course. Even if strollers have been beefed up to resemble mini SUVs, the problem lies within that special brand of parent prone to dementia. This dementia flatters them into thinking that everyone else loves their baby too. Those afflicted inappropriately drag their cranky tots to barbecues and parties, where everyone is expected to coo, watch their language and pipe down once the parents can stash it away in a back room. Note to these individuals: If you can't afford a sitter, you can't afford a child.
But myself and the millions of people who have been violated by strollers, crying babies in movie theatres and bad Facebook baby etiquette are speaking up. The brilliant blogger for New York is Retarded shared this hilarious rant. Here's an exerpt:
Hipster BabiesJust because you’re a hipster doesn’t mean you’re a cooler parent. If anything, you and your retarded,
new age hippy parenting skills are way worse than any Midwestern, diaper bag toting, overweight, sweat-suit clad nightmare who has their kid on a leash. At least they see their child for what it is to everyone else; a pest. A pest named Billy who they keep on a leash and smack around when he acts like an asshole. I love that.But in Brooklyn’s hipster parent world, a little shit named Chloe in a tiny Marc Jacobs ensemble wanders aimlessly around the coffee shop with her other designer clad gang of baby hipster friends named Rufus, Rex, Telulah and Blaize. They chew on mommy’s old Nano and climb onto the couch I’m sitting on and size up my clearly un-designer ensemble and loudly proclaim to their friends, “Target” in an ironic baby voice.
Meanwhile, their mothers are all gathered around in a circle drinking yerba matte, wearing slouchy boots over leggings and talking about how challenging pilates was today, oblivious to the gang warfare being waged over on my side of the shop. Clearly annoyed, but to no avail I have to suffer through this until their mothers entice them back over with a baggie full of Veggie Pirate’s Booty. Even better than that bargaining chip, these vacuous, baby holes promise their little trolls a “baby cappuccino” if they continue to be “good”. I watch the barista’s eyes rolls back in their head at the mention of a baby cappuccino and silently whisper to one another, “Not it.”
...and if the New York is Retarded blogger and the millions who have been made some stroller's bitch can't convince you that your baby is an a**hole, check out the official Your Baby is an A**hole website.
