A word from you father

Dear Loinspawn,

We need more time. YOU need to give us more time. Your mother and I need to nip off to South America for a bit, your father still has unfinished party business and god knows there is enough stuff to fix around the house before you arrive.

In light of this I thought I would ask you to remain where you are until further notice. Now is not the time to conform and arrive as planned. Who cares about a due date? You’ll regret for the rest of your life arriving in time like all the other babies. You’ll spend your days trying to compensate by wearing t-shirts that state you are an individual or even worse, turning into a hipster and riding a wooden bicycle whilst playing your ironic accordion. Get it right from the start son. Fuck biology and the natural cycle of life. You’ve already confounded physics by becoming the centre of our universe. Stick the spanner in the works a little bit more.

Trust me, you’re much better off in there than out here. There are terrifying, excruciatingly horrifying things out here – like the troll infested internet. When I was a child they lived beneath bridges and ate pets and homeless people. The cunning and adaptable cretins have now however taken refuge in the shadowlands which we call the News24 commentary section. Avoid this place at all cost.

More terrifying than them however is the average user, who is more interested in a girl swinging naked on a wrecking ball, than the mass scale destruction wreaked upon the Philippines by typhoon Haiyan. Both are natural disasters of the worst kind except the one has tits. (Which reminds me; we need to have a talk about what’s mine and what’s yours but that’s a letter for a different day.)

Perhaps you should wait till world peace comes. At the moment everyone in America is shooting everyone else. Russia hates the gays and here in Africa we still have lions roaming the streets, although thanks to a kind lady called Melissa Bachman, that won’t be a problem for much longer. We also have hyenas stealing from the poor, but we call them politicians and unfortunately it will take more than a trigger happy lady with a large gun to get rid of them.

There are worse things here in the wilderness than politicians. Things like lawyers, call centers and hairdressers. The last is a terrifying thing to endure. To them, silence is an unknown concept and if you cannot give them gossip, they will share everyone else’s with you. They are an ancient species pre-empting Facebook and Twitter. Please son. You can become anything you want. Except for a hairdresser. If you do, at least attempt being a strong silent one. But I digress.

You need to hang on to your umbilical cord for a little longer. Your mother and I still haven’t figured out how to be perfect and until we do, you need to stay put. Hells bells boy, we don’t even have a name for you yet. You are currently No Name Nel, which is no name for a child. Your mother believes we will know when you arrive but I’m not a betting man. I suggest you remain till you are old enough to decide on your own name. By this time you’ll also have learned to wipe your own ass and we can get down to serious business, like listening to music and reading books.

If you do decide to change your mind about entering this perilous world let us know by kicking your mother three times in the bladder. Until then we’ll trade South America for the caravan park down the road and do more fixing instead of partying. World peace and the perfect parents might never come, but we’re all stocked up in the love department. Just thought I would let you know in case that’s all you’re looking for.

Regards,

Your father.

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