Well, I guess we could flip a coin.

29 02 2008


Earlier, I was talking to my girlfriend (future co-Schroederist Kelly) about babies, when she happened to bring up the details surrounding her birth. It seems that she wasn’t the easiest child to bear (no, she wasn’t horned or fat), and during her birth, there arose a relatively common but frightful phenomenon. In addition to other issues, she had become entangled in her umbilical cord, and was strangling.

The doctor, a man no doubt renowned for being a total jackass, asked her father, Guillermo*, one of the most obscenely tactless and insensitive questions I’ve ever heard. He said, “If it comes down to it, who would you rather I save?”**

My first thought–unvoiced until now–upon hearing that was, “What the fuck is wrong with that man?” I’m not up-to-date with my physician’s ethics, but I’m pretty sure that falls into the category of “Bedside Manner for Doctors Who Enjoy Being Shot in the Stomach”.

I don’t even understand the mentality behind the asking of such a stupid thing. What are you supposed to say, “Well, Doc, what’s market value on infants these days?” 

To Guillermo’s eternal credit, he responded, “I can’t make that decision.”

Anyway, when Kelly and I have children, whatever complications arise, I hope to never be confronted with a similar situation. I can handle the stress and terror, but I would sincerely hate to go to jail for circumcising a grown man during the birth of my child.

*Guillermo was a Mexican immigrant–also a college student and revolutionary, which is pretty awesome–who then became a Canadian citizen to better ease his American nationalization. Pretty crafty.

**Honestly, I don’t see how there could be an option. It’s not a fucking Lady and the Tiger scenario.


The very first thing I ever published

28 02 2008

Not that I have some lengthy legacy, or anything, but this is the first of any of the things I’ve written to get published. It’s long, and I kind of lose steam through the middle of it, but hey–it’s something, right?

Anyway, for posterity, here’s:

Parenting For a New Century

By Kenneth W. Schroeder, Esq.

 Okay, since I don’t have any children of my own, I feel qualified to write this how-to in the utmost objective manner possible. Children are a nuisance- screaming, snot-nosed vortices of food and money whose sole mission is to disappoint and slowly leach their parents of money and the will to live.

 The biggest downside, as I see it, is that these awful creatures are often allowed to grow into a much larger physical state, while little or no effort is made to change them from the ego-centric little assholes they were when they were children.

Parents, I am here to change all of that.

 Utilizing the latest cutting-edge techniques in child psychology and combining them with the age-old art of “beat ’em now, beat ’em later” jiu-jitsu parenting, I have devised the perfect solution to the eternal issue of having people who look like you but are otherwise savage, unholy maniacs.

Chapter One- The Early Years

Step 1- When, at an early age, a child shows the slightest inclination to question your omnipotence, use any and all short-range weapons in your arsenal. Ashtrays, telephones, beloved family pets- anything that will clearly illustrate this concept to their under-developed, spongy brains.

Step 2- You may have noticed a strange phenomenon occurring whenever you go into the back yard to feed your kids. They have increased in size, and seem to attempt the formation of rudimentary language skills. This is certainly not what the proactive parent desires in an offspring.

 After administering the above treatment, which you should be doing at least three times a day at this point, bring the child or children into the house to begin their education regimen. If your spawn are too noisy, fat, incontinent or any combination of the three, feel free to perform this exercise outside or perhaps in the garage.

 Place each large-headed, drooling cretin in front of a television set. Apply restraint devices if necessary. Tune into a channel that airs no fewer than five reality television series, or three consecutive hours of celebrity/hip-hop “insider” programming. Rinse and repeat.

Step 3- If, during the course of their formative years, you should have to venture out into public with these lowbrow miscreants in tow, fear not, there is hope. 

 A simple, effective strategy to ensure proper behavior is to bring along a certain item of which the breathing growths have become fond. Whether it’s a doll, a squeaky frog or a shiny rock, the same technique is advised. Threaten the well-being of said artifact constantly- in the garage while you’re attaching the choke collars, in the car (assuming they can still hear you from the trunk), even at your intended destination.

 If your lumps are so dull as to have connected on no discernible level with anything, bring the toy along anyway, only this time you should substitute threatening the object with repeatedly thrashing the child. This will ensure their absolute subservience while among normal people. The true genius of this method is the fact that should you yourself have to leave the room, the toy may be left behind as a menacing sentinel.

 Given your child’s limited understanding of, well, anything, they will not grasp the concept of an inanimate object’s inability to harm them- in the beast’s eyes, the object is just as dangerous and malcontent as you, the attack dog in your bedroom, or the door to the refrigerator.

Step 4- Bathing. This is an inadvisable and fruitless chore. If they must be cleansed of the remaining chunks of food, excreta and other assorted wastes, simply move the cage closer to your outdoor trash receptacles. The flies will do most of the work, and your beloved tax write-offs will enjoy a healthy, delicious snack.

 Thus concludes the first installment of my Parenting for A New Century series. Feel free to write me if you have any suggestions or comments. Be sure to catch the next chapter, Adolescence, which contains valuable insights into the lumbering mechanics of the teenage mind. As an added bonus, I will also include helpful tips on the subjects of child labor laws, sexual development, and how to change your burden into a working facet of your burgeoning plantation. Until then, I remain

Kenneth W. Schroeder, Esq.

(Please note that Mr. Schroeder, while brilliant and inventive, is not an actual child psychologist or therapist. His methods have been outlawed in many countries and provinces throughout the known world, and are known to the state of California to cause cancer.)

Parenting For a New Century

 Welcome back friends and neighbors for the second installment of my parenting series. I hope the last chapter was informative and enlightening, and at least moderately witty. Tonight’s lesson deals with those large, odorous organisms known as Adolescents, or in slang terms, “teens”.

Chapter Two- Adolescence and The New Horizon

 By now, should you have kept a studious eye upon your mutating subject, you will have noticed drastic and oftentimes shocking physical and emotional transformations taking place. This is not to say that such metamorphoses are beneficial to yourself or to society, but that this weakened, hormonally charged phase can provide ripe opportunities for conditioning.

 Pavlovian training methods are often utilized in such cases, but I find such principles to be weak and ineffectual. Instead, we shall apply a shocking new theory as yet unheard of in the world of parenting: the Catch and Release ploy.

Step 1: Should your teenage dirtbag become irritable and willful, it is advised that you put an immediate stop to such behavior, as the wooly lump will only increase in size and musculature from this point on.

 With any common household instrument, say a pair of barbecue thongs perhaps, grasp the offending lip and twist until your wrist is perpendicular to the floor, then incline the head to a forty-five degree angle. Now begin a slow march around the room, making absolutely certain to guide your stock directly into the path of low-lying furniture and jutting cabinetry. This ensures that the lesson will be at least slightly absorbed by the porous matter that substitutes for an adolescent brain.

 If your heathen has a certain cosmetic piercing, and in it resides a circular metal object, this process will be made ever-so-much easier. On you, that is. One particular student of mine advocated the application of mild to moderate electrical currents to such jewelry, so you may indeed consider that option.

Step 2- Sexual development is key to the rearing and social adjustment of any normal being. However, in this case we will not address such ludicrous concepts as “development”, since that may very well prove disastrous to the delicate balance of nature. Instead we shall focus primarily on the repression and denial of adolescent sexual desire.

 Should you notice a slight protrusion originating in the pelvic region of your male child, you must immediately douse it with scalding-hot oil. This unhealthy growth can lead to a good many bothersome symptoms such as prolonged restroom occupance, leering at other female members of the species, and the secretion of a highly toxic substance known among feral adolescents as “spunk”.

 Again, and I cannot stress this enough, should you notice such a growth, do not hesitate to dump any boiling liquids or oils into the potentially contagious lap of your hairy embarrassment.

 If you notice said condition and yet presume to possess a female of the species, I urge you to at least have a veterinarian perform a basic physical examination. It could be that, while smartly avoiding close contact, you may have misinterpreted the gender of your beast.

Step 3- Grooming is an important issue among any and all of God’s creatures. The notable exception being of course the male subhuman adolescent, and the female being a slightly better choice between the two, I would suggest trading your ape to a slightly more gullible family in exchange for their “daughter” or pet ferret.

 If you find that no one will make such an exchange, keep things simple when dealing with grooming techniques. The most assured method is to simply beat the mutant until his hair refuses to grow. Or you may attempt to scorch the curly mess with a butane torch, but this has often led to foul-smelling smoke inhalation deaths among parents burdened with enormous, hairy offspring. Stick to what you have already learned from me: “beat ’em now, beat ’em later”. You can’t lose with a mantra like that.

Step 4- Since your rancid pile of love-dumpling has reached a point in his or her life where it is now feasible to begin menial labor, I suggest starting small. Of course I don’t mean small weights, but small concepts, since the brain during adolescence resembles Renee Zellweger’s hind-quarters after being run over by a football team. In other words, dimpled and extraordinarily spongy.

 Physical training begins with tractor tires, or just tractors if you want to speed things along, being strapped on about the neck and then forcefully tugged for great distances. Applying Step One has been rumored to increase productivity ten-fold among the overweight and asthmatic demographics, but has been surprisingly ineffective when used in conjunction with attention disorder medication. That concludes the lesson for the evening, ladies and gentlemen, and be sure to catch my third and final installment called Emptying The Nest: Optimum Height For Optimum Results. Until then, I remain

Kenneth W. Schroeder, Esq.

 (Please note: Mr. Schroeder is not an actual child psychologist, nor is he a therapist by any normal standards. In fact, Mr. Schroeder is a recent parolee who was allowed back into the normal world after teaching a Texas Correctional officer how to properly bludgeon his and others’ infants.)

Parenting for A New Century

  Welcome, desperate parents, to the final installment of my acclaimed series, Parenting for A New Century. I trust my previous posts were sufficient to improve your shamefully inept child-rearing tactics. If not, it is no fault of mine, but that you plainly were not paying any attention. Do not allow this to proceed. I know all, and will smite thee with grievous force. Also, I reserve the right to use any number of negatives in my grammar. You, as a mere mortal and therefore confined to Earthly rules, cannot.

  Thus far we have covered the two primary stages of growth and mutation in the sub-human species of “children”, infancy and adolescence. While my advice is best applied to the male animal, only slight changes are required to fit practically any sex. Of course, by now you might have realized that there are limitless variations of gender among the chromosomally challenged. Rob Schneider and Renee Zellweger, you might be surprised to learn, fall into this category.

Chapter Three- Emptying The Nest

  Although your pitiful loin excreta has technically aged past the adolescent stage, it is likely that he/she/it/they may not have reached a sufficient level of maturity. Fret not, dear follower, for your worries are not long for this world.  In a rare fit of rationality, our government has actually provided in favor of the parent in that, as of age eighteen, you are no longer legally responsible for the ghoul’s well-being. Thank whatever god you wish for such enlightenment. Thank me if you feel it necessary.

  The only remaining issue, if you have not yet succumbed to thrashing your mutant to a nearly dead state, is what you should do to remove them from your domicile. Follow these few guidelines to your deserved liberation.

  Step 1-  If, at any point in your detached “relationship”, you should have purchased items of emotional value to the subject, immediately remove these things to your front yard or fire escape. If you had purchased objects of monetary value, confiscate and pawn them at once. The free ride is over, after all.

  The logical purpose of placing the forever tainted possessions outside of your home is to lure the wet-brain offspring outside. If you did not realize this by now, I feel I must have a stern talking-to with your parents, you clubfooted monster.

  Once the ghoul has exited the vicinity, gather up all remaining soiled artifacts such as clothing, bedding, and carpeting he or she may have tread upon during those rare indoor moments. Burn these things at once, as they will invariably contain gooey, highly contagious, crawling genetic material. If you came into contact with said material, light yourself on fire and leap from the balcony. You are doomed.

Step 2- Assuming you survived step one, you must now set about the task of sealing your home with swift decisiveness. Retreat to your garage or supply closet while the mongoloid is still distracted by the shiny toys and bright lights of traffic.

You will need the following: hammer, nails, two-by-fours, holy water, nail gun, screw gun, shotgun, crucifix, and one huge jug of cheap vodka.

 Begin your work by nailing shut all windows and doors. Air-conditioning vents are also potential avenues of ingress, so the use of roach-bombs or ricin gas is permitted. Once your home is sufficiently secured, begin the ridiculous job of spiritually cleansing your rooms with the crucifix and holy water. Even if you are not a Christian these methods are advised, as both Buddha and Krishna share your shameful child’s physical and mental handicap, and thus might find favor with it instead of you. Besides, everyone knows that God hates the stupid and infirm.

Step 3- With your remaining tools in hand, venture carefully outside to locate the monster. It may seem dangerous or foolhardy, but entice your walking tumor to partake of the vodka, preferably in copious amounts. Allow for appropriate drunkenness to settle in, and retreat to a safe distance.

 Within view of the child, fire the nail gun and screw gun arbitrarily at various objects, people, and animals. If you are of brave constitution, pantomime nailing yourself through the upper thigh or lower colon.

 Place your weapons on the ground no closer than fifty feet from the newly-liberated beast, and back away slowly. While there have been no know instances in which a relatively ambulatory parent has been caught by an advancing mutant-child, safety is always the best bet.

  Once you have reached a safe distance, sprint to your door while keeping a wary eye upon your subject. If you reach the domicile safely, place a chair about six feet from the inside of the door, and ready the shotgun. Wait for no fewer than three hours, as such creatures will invariably forget within this allotted time.  Should you hear screams from outside, and can distinguish them from the idiot-bawl of your child, place an anonymous phone call to your local emergency police and ambulance.

 With any luck, and you shouldn’t honestly need any in light of my exhaustive wisdom, your trials and tribulations are over. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, and for the love of God-  DO NOT CONTINUE TO PROCREATE!

  Thank you dearly for your time and donations. I trust that you and your significant other will now consider my deification, and I shall gracefully accept your worship.

Kenneth W. Schroeder, Esq.

 (Please note: Mr. Schroeder is not a licensed professional and is, in fact, a degenerate maniac. His teachings have now been outlawed in every nation, province, township and village on this and any other planet, with the single notable exception being Newark, NJ. I pray that you do not follow his advice and turn immediately from his deviant lessons.)

The Man Who Was Afraid of Babies

26 02 2008

I’ve always been terrified of babies, I think. It’s not that I think that they could do me severe bodily harm, or anything; rather, I’m afraid of mishandling or, God forbid, dropping them. I’m not a habitually clumsy person. I like to think of myself as fairly sure of both hand and foot, but therein is the source of my fear. I’m afraid that the one shining moment of extravagant clumsiness in my life will come at a time when I’m holding someone’s infant child in my arms. Trip, stumble, stumble, “Oh, Jesus Christ!”, splat. Just like that, and I’ll be forever known as “that guy who dropped the baby down the stairs”. 


Oddly, I was never afraid of that happening with my brother or sister. Indeed, I would give my brother rides in my Tonka dumptruck up and down our double-landing staircase. Sure, there were some bumps and spills along the way—it is incredibly difficult to navigate a set of stairs with a screaming toddler in the bed of a Tonka dumptruck—but he’s none the worse for wear. Well, that is to say that he’s not noticeably retarded now. I also carried my sister here and there, nonchalantly, by the head. I know that sounds horrible, but really, if God didn’t want babies to be carried around by the head, he wouldn’t have made them so conveniently shaped. She, too, is a well-adjusted member of society. For the most part.


The physical and biological make-up of infants leads me to believe that some higher power knew that they were going to have to go through some heavy shit before they left infancy. Babies are naturally slippery—I guess it’s to protect them from bears—and I have a tendency to sort of drift off while doing important things. Those two factors lead me to believe that it is a very bad idea for me to hold babies.


My paranoid imagination, such as it is, shows me all sorts of horrible possibilities about the subject of dropping babies, and the worst by far is the sound I believe it will make. If you’ve ever dropped an unopened glass jar of mayonnaise on a thin rug over a concrete floor, you know exactly the horror that is that sound. It’s not very loud, not really glassy sounding, and certainly not pleasant. It’s a thick, liquid noise that automatically makes you cringe when you hear it. Maybe it triggers something in our brains that makes us automatically think of dropping babies. Then again, maybe I’m just irrationally afraid of doing so. Either way, it’s disgusting and horrible. I don’t recommend it.


I’ve never actually dropped a baby, let me make that much clear. I’ve almost dropped a baby twice. Yes, that sentence should be understood literally, as it was in fact the same baby. The first time was my fault, I turned too quickly and the slippery little creature almost took a tumble. The second time was the mother’s fault, since she surprised me by trying to snatch it* away without my knowledge. My first instinct was to wrap my arms up tightly around it, and hers was to be a complete fucktard and yank on its leg. The resulting catastrophe was blamed on me, but I had several witnesses who backed me up.


*I never could figure out what sex it was—it was named Jody and wore both blue and pink. I thought it rude to ask.