I love animals, but I can’t stand children. I feel sick every time I go to a place and find it full of children. Besides, they bore me to death, and there is nothing more lethal than Desorbitada mind-numbingly bored by an external cause (you should know I never get bored with myself, that’s me: multidimensional, multifaceted, and multitalented).
Paedophobia is one of my many aversions. Not a new one. I have always been paedophobic. When I was a child –if I ever was, although I doubt it, I could not stand children of my own age. How I hated when my parents kicked me out of their social gatherings, where I very much enjoyed listening to everybody, and told me to do some social integration with their friends’ children! Since then I hate the word “integration”. It has no meaning for me. I much prefer the word “disintegration”, because it reminds me of the Stun Gun in the science fiction television series “Space: 1999”, and also because it is more effective to get rid of loud-mouthed little brats, always messing around.
Children and silence don’t get on very well, so wherever you find the former, the latter will vanish. How wonderful it would be if people could be born in their thirties! In a last generation lab with the most advanced assisted reproductive technology, from a super-powerful machine that would eliminate the annoying nine months of gestation.
Why the Almighty wasn’t so kind as to put us on the same level as opossums? These funny marsupials have a very short gestation period –about 13 days. Why, why? I wonder, although in vain (I am preaching in the wilderness). Nobody will answer. Is everybody ok with this? No wonder the world is such a mess!
And talking about pregnancy…it comes to my mind the despicable fashion that stupid lovebirds have made popular when they announce to the world (as if the world cared!) that “they are pregnant”, both of them. They both (he and she) include themselves in the gravid state. The lovers of Teruel (romance legend): silly her, silly him. Scrub the inside of your toilet with a brush and a bottle of Mr. Clean, you fool! Just cut the crap and stop trying to appear du jour!
How can a woman marry such an idiot? I accept only one answer, the only one that I can be content with: she married for money and she is slowly poisoning him with the products from Mercadona.
English people really do know about all this! They have restaurants and other public places where children are banned. Yes, perfidious Albion! How marvelous it should be to rest for a while, away from those fat-bottomed women proudly pushing their baby carriages (they usually have chubby hands with sausage-like fingers squeezed by rings the size of hula-hoops). Before this idyllic vignette I have to rein in the impulse to snatch the suckling pig, roast it, put it on a tray and serve it to the diners with a red apple stuck in its mouth.