kicking, screaming

No matter where I go, or what I do, if there's a crying baby in the place, I'll be the one who gets stuck by it. Empty movie theaters and they sit one row back, airplane trips to well, anywhere, there they are, and now fucking coffee shops! The babies have united in a plot against me, and I can't get away from them.

Which brings me to another point. If these babies can traverse the er, icy roads outside, why can't universitiy officials and my teachers do the same so I can be done with the semester!?! The fact that my semester will be prolonged by a mere 24 hours is beside the point. The point is, Texans are supposed to be these big, bad machos who drive SUVs, wrangle cattle City Slickers style, and wear spurs that jingle jangle jingle on their Steve Madden boots, but they can't make it across town when the temperature drops below freezing.

Man, I can't wait to have kids. They are going to be so well behaved. My babies won't cry when they piss themselves, my kids won't lay in the aisle at wale-Mart and wail when I don't buy them cheesy puffs (which I won't do, because I don't want my kids to contribute to the outrageous number of obese people in the state {Texas has one of the highest percentages of obesity in the States, over 25%}), my teenagers won't complain when the kid next door gets a brand new BMW and I only buy them a Mustang GT (because I don't want to spoil them for goodness sake). But they will love me despite my Hilteresque discipline. Man, I can't wait to have kids.

Signed,

One rantin' ravin' Texan