Stupid Midgets or Tiny Assholes?

Are Babies Assholes?

For several years, I’ve formed a rather strong opinion that children and babies are like dumb midgets…. they are small yet stupid and cannot function on their own, complete sentences or be trusted to operate vodka drinks. Well, this theory has come under attack as I may have underestimated the little-tards.

I just came across this article posted online at Jezebel called “Are Babies Assholes”? So are the little raviolis filled with more than just shit, milk and saliva? Are they smarter than I give them credit for? I don’t know….. I may need some commentary on this one.

Are Babies Assholes?
Article by: Erin Gloria Ryan

Babies have long been known to be freeloading, pants-shitting, boob-crazed whiners with an entitlement complex who refuse to get jobs or learn English, even thoughthis is America. But for years, another aspect of their tiny, angry personalities was slightly less obvious: are they also jerks? Five years ago, a group of researchers claimed that a series of tests had concluded that babies do not actively wish fellow human beings harm, that from a very wee age, they’re capable of telling the difference between right and wrong. But now, new evidence has thrown those findings into a playpen of doubt, again putting babies’ morality (or lack thereof) in the hot (booster) seat.

According to the original “Babies Are Not Total Dicks After All” research, babies as young as 6 months old prefer interacting with prosocial individuals. Researchers determined this by showing the babies puppet shows involving a wooden doll that was trying to climb a hill and either helped up or pushed down the hill by another wooden doll. Following the show, the tiny, gurgling study subjects were offered a choice to play with either the helper puppet or the hinderer puppet. In almost all cases, the babies selected the helper puppet, which, to researchers, demonstrated that they recognized that the helper puppet was good, and that they preferred to hang around good people (the wanting to hang around bad people phase doesn’t start until the babies are teenagers and angry at their fathers). Case closed. Babies are good.

Not so fast.

Researchers who tried to stage the experiment again found that babies would react differently to the puppets depending on how the puppet attempting to climb the hill acted. One skeptical researcher explained to CBS News,

“For example, when we had the climber bounce at the bottom of the hill, but not at the top of the hill, infants preferred the hinderer, that is, the one that pushed the climber down the hill,” Scarf explained. “If the social evaluation hypothesis was correct, we should have seen a clear preference for the helper, irrespective of the location of the bounce, because the helper always helped the climber achieve its goal of reaching the top of the hill.”

The researchers on the original experiment countered that if the puppet bounced happily at the bottom of the hill, the babies might be confused into believing that the puppet was trying to fall all along, and the “hinderer” was actually a helper. The direction the ascending puppet was looking also influenced the babies’ picks — if the puppet was looking down as it climbed, the babies would often choose the hinderer under the mistaken assumption that the climbing puppet wanted to be pushed. If the climbing puppet looked up, the babies assumed the climbing puppet wanted to go up. And if the climbing puppet had dark circles under its eyes and is trying to just get one goddamn full night’s rest, the baby would respond by screaming very loudly every 90 minutes.

So the endless debate over whether the itty bitty puke machines we call human infants have a moral compass rages on. I’ll be waiting for a definitive answer with bated breath — even though I may have been too hard on babies in the past (I’d apologize in writing, if I wasn’t 95% sure that babies can’t be bothered to learn to read), I hope to have a few of my own someday … that I’ll steal from Maclaren strollers left unattended by Angry Birds-playing mothers in the Whole Foods produce section.

Full article here: http://jezebel.com/5935385/are-babies-assholes?utm_campaign=socialflow_jezebel_facebook&utm_source=jezebel_facebook&utm_medium=socialflow

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The Cathys

Last weekend I was invited to attend my friends wedding, who Ill refer to as “Elaine”. Believe it or not, we’ve ran a few half marathons together.

Ill pause for your giggle.

I met her three years ago and was impressed by her ability to maintain a constant workout schedule. As you may know, I’ve been unable to keep most everything stable in my life for lack of ambition including exercise, diet, dick, hobbies, friendships, ect…. Well, except vodka. I’ve always loved vodka.

Ill get to that story later… but before I move onto the wedding, can I just say that people who preach about the “runners high” have never been high before. Just something to keep in mind before you get wrangled into a two hour plus event that makes you feel like you want to cry, crap and cuss throughout the entire ordeal.

So anyways, Elaine was finally getting married and I was so exited to support her. She’s been dating the same guy for almost four years and has been anticipating this lock down for some time. He is Mexican but doesn’t speak Mexican, but he looks kinda Mexican. He’s very nice and has a nice laugh. I couldn’t wait for the wedding.

The ceremony was to be a Catholic mass; I grabbed my seat and waited anxiously for the event to begin. All the little wedding soldiers piled down the aisle looking dapper. As we get started, I realize that I was in for a very long evening and I had failed to bring any snacks, reading material or Adderall to keep focused. I found solace in the fact that the priest was Vietnamese or Chinese, or maybe Thai, I’m not sure. His English was broken and while it was difficult to under his proclamations of the Lord, I found his weakness for the English language very cute. I felt this strange urge to pick him up and bear hug him in the middle of the ceremony. My mind began to wonder around the turn of hour one…. Maybe I could kidnap him and place him in my over sized handbag, after all he was a seemingly tiny man.

True to catholic form, it felt more like a  UCA Cheerleading camp and I had arrived a day late therefore missing the choreographer go through the chants that the congregation would be responsible for reciting the next day. How did everyone else in the ceremony seem to know all the eight counts? I began to frantically search through the pew filing cabinet where they place the hymnal thinking surely I had missed a handout explaining what to say and when. My hunt for answers left me empty handed.

Not only were these people or “Cathys” as I like to refer to them as, making me feel like an asshole but they were also making me work out. I haven’t taken a step class in quite a while and I was tirelessly trying to keep up with the pace of Up- Down – Kneel, Up – Down – Kneel, Up – Down – Kneel.

By the time the free food and beverages were announced I was excited to take a walk, stretch my legs, grab a drink check out the wedding party up close. Just as this ceremony was starting to come around for me, the priest announces that only the baptized Cathys were allowed to drink and eat but the rest of the crew was encouraged to come up for a blessing. I immediately retracted my previous thoughts of hugs and napping with the priest. He had a lot of nerve telling me that I couldn’t partake in the usual sacrament, but then again, I wasn’t surprised. The Cathys have a way of making outsiders feel like outsiders so I decided that I could use a blessing and took the walk anyways.

After an hour and forty-five minutes, the ceremony wrapped up. I found myself sobbing towards the end of it…. I didn’t know if it was the beauty and happiness radiating from the newlyweds or if it was the anticipation of the open bar that was awaiting me at the reception.

My friend’s dream had finally come true; she would have Mexican babies, become a Mexican housewife and dance her life away to the tunes of Jaunes which happens to be her favorite band. I don’t think there is anyone else in the world that I’d run 13.2 miles for, train through miles of hurt and endure the pain of shin splints and coping with the reality that I’ve had shit come out of my pants while being miles away from my starting/ ending point; which is why she’s the only person that I would happily sit through full mass through. Cheers to mi poco chica amiga!