Fat child tortured, parents laugh

Today during my two-month checkup, Dr. Kuo told me that I am in the 90th percentile for weight, according to my age. That means I outweigh nine out of ten of other chubby babies in the US. Which means I am a badass. I can't wait until I'm in daycare soon and some little shrimpy kid tries to f*&^ with me. I'll throw my 13lb, 7oz ass-kickin' body all over him, and make him cry. Step off, bitch, this is Walker's World.

My parents celebrated my obvious genetic and health superiority by musing that I was fat. Hold the phone folks! Did Kanye just say President Bush hates chubby babies, or did I hear you call me fat? I'm healthy! I eat the rich and nutricious secretion of my mother's mammaries all day and have the cheeky smile and Ruebenesque form to prove it. So where do you get off thinking I'm fat? I'm healthy, punks.

Anywho, in addition to the usual Dr's office fare of being stripped down, measured, poked and prodded like some prize animal at a 4H meet, I was given my first shots. Read, I was tortured. Some seemingly sanguine and amiable nurse holds me and cuddles me, and just as I open up to her, she then shoves a needle bigger than I've ever seen into my leg like some psycho ninja assassin. I was about ready to retaliate with my tiny fists of fury, but then...the emotion overcame me. My parents call me fat, I'm naked and in the arms of someone who I thought was my amigo, and I'm 23 minutes overdue for my reservation at MRB...the tears flowed like a river. You should have seen my dad's face. He was heartbroken to see me in such a state. Who's laughing, now, you bastahd?

I will avenge these trepasses, and sow displeasure and sorrow in my wake as I taste the sweet fruit of victory. The day will be mine. Oh yes, it will be. Carpe nunchaku.

That is all...