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People other than the actual parents can't understand a single sound a kid is making. It all comes out as gibberish. Save us all some precious seconds and call us when the kid can say "I gotta go poop." No one-with the possible exception of the grandparents-really cares.

I'm tired of hearing the convoluted explanations of how special or talented or blessed with ability every single asshole's kids are today. I don't wanna hear how he tests in the something something percentile of his class or how she was judged to be blah blah blah by a panel of mathematics experts.

It's gotten so bizarre that some people are actually trying to circumvent the system and get their idiotic children DECLARED special-needs.

Parent pair after parent pair digging through books and trawling the Internet in search of symptoms that match up with their underachieving imbeciles.

A lot of them turn to the gold standard excuse-Attention Deficit Disorder. ADD. Holy shit. I was never diagnosed as being ADD but I'll bet if they tested back in the sixties I would've come up ADD-HD-High Definition. I can barely keep my focus long enough to stay on this subject. I mean-have you been reading this chapter or not?

Lemme give you an example.

I am truly, honestly going to stop typing for a moment and see whether I can think of something to say about attention deficit disorder and I will type the first two things that come into my head.

Here we go.

Gimme like-five seconds.

Okay-start counting.

Why do old people drive so goddam slow? You have had the experience-stuck in a forty-mile-per-hour speed zone on a one-lane road behind some brittle, ancient creature who's barely going thirty as he daydreams about LBJ. Meanwhile, YER in a rush but the old asshole's driving as if he's got all the time in the world. Hey-I got news for ya, shithead. Yer eighty-seven years old. Death is not only right around the corner-he might be riding shotgun. If I were eighty-seven years old-full well knowing I might have a heart attack or an aneurysm or if I cut a hard fart the wrong way it might actually blow an internal gasket and make my entire insides explode all over my leather 1994 Cadillac Seville seats-I would drive so fucking fast you would barely be able to identify my car if I ran you over. And what if I did run you over-what're they gonna do, give me life in jail? I'm eighty-goddam-seven! I think old people should be forced to actually drive the same speed as their age. Eighty-seven is your age AND your speed limit. You better hope I don't hit my late eighties or early nineties because I will guarantee everyone right now-you better get the fuck out of my way. I'll kill young people just for spite. And when I say young I mean anyone under seventy-five.

See? Wait-watch this:

Everyone talks about how crazy Tom Cruise is because he believes in Scientology-a religion based on the idea that aliens came to Earth many many years ago and created the human race blah blah blah. Yeah. That sounds pretty crazy to me. But not as crazy as the religion I was brought up to believe in-the Catholic Church-where we were taught that a chick got pregnant without having sex and gave birth to a guy who could walk on water and feed thousands of people with one loaf of bread and a fish. Hmmm. Who's crazy now?

See? Wait wait-one more:

They just announced on my desktop satellite radio feed that lame-duck President George W. Bush is going to sign into law a bill that will keep the mentally ill from being able to purchase guns. Great. At least Britney Spears won't be able to shoot herself in the head. Then again-neither will Kevin Federline.

I could keep going for almost forever.

Have you noticed that all the women Roger Clemens injected with his Hall of Fame semen started out very petite and pretty and blond and ended up-after the affair had run its course-far bigger with larger butts and faces? And that semen was supposedly steroid-free? I don't think so, Rocket Man. We don't need no stinking syringes-let's