Kalah Allen

Hey there, you little bundle of joy... gitchy-gitchy-GOO! Yessss—I'm talking to you, you cutie-wootie, poopie-pantie, baby-wabie! I just want to express to you how you've impacted my life since the stork delivered the little miracle that is YOU! Prior to your arrival, I was part of a live posse that would hang out and party, take trips to the Gorge Amphitheater, and spend copious quantities of time carousing and enjoying life. Over the past decade or so, I have watched you systematically enter the homes of virtually all of my friends and do some kind of invasion-of-the-body-snatchers voodoo hex to turn them into boring zombies. Your dad doesn't have time for a beer after work anymore, but he knows all the words to that faggy song from the new Disney movie. Your mom doesn't even know where to buy a bag of weed anymore, but she can tell by that subtle furrowing of your brow when you've filled your diaper. I used to come over to your parents' stylin' crib for hip cocktail parties with live music; last time I came by, the vomit-stained carpet was littered with your toys and silly drawings, and some stupid fucking obnoxious DVD was blaring a dippy song about caring and sharing. Back when the party was still going, I was the cute one for vomiting on the floor and soiling myself. But now you've arrived to take all that away from me. Everyone says you're cute—you're not. You're a little fucking succubus prima donna who always has to have all the attention. I hate you, you fucking baby.—Anonymous