How To: Deliver A Baby

Cliff here. I consider myself a student as well as a teacher of the human race. In particular, I teach you fairy pricks about how men should act, and I study the females of the species. I am a man among boys, and you can be too. Go here if you feel like putting some hair on your sack. I’ll help you with every single one of life’s problems if you’re willing to drop kick the next metrosexual guy that you see.

I know you’re thinking that I’m some sort of invincible superhero, and you’d be right. I do have one thing that freaks me out, though, and that’s menstrual blood. It’s like kryptonite and there’s no shame in admitting that. Every month when a woman purges the evil from her body, I avoid that particular female specimen like she’s ACTUALLY on fire. When a woman is on the rag or literally ablaze, she can’t respond without yelling, her anger is directed at anyone and everything, and she won’t put out.

Still, nothing will get you tail like mastering your fear and playing the hero. If she’s literally on fire, put her out, wait for her hair to grow back and let her ride your firepole. If she’s shedding her uterine lining, wait it out and throw some cookies her way. The end result will be the same. You’ll be “rewarded” for suffering through her whining.

I like to take that principle and apply it to other situations in life. Men should be the hero. If you haven’t learned it from watching Die Hard and Gladiator, you should have picked it up from your extensive collection of Disney movies. It’s no coincidence that they’re called “fairy tales”. Try watching a movie that isn’t animated, you nutless wonder.

Being the hero means that you have to be ready for any situation that comes your way. Car explosion? Check. Zombie apocalypse? Got it covered. Pregnant woman squeezing out a larva? Here’s what to do.

Step one is to stay calm. This should be second nature by now with all the teaching I’ve thrown your way, but I keep hearing (from your mother) that you’re more excitable than Elton John at a dude ranch. If you can’t keep your head, you won’t be able to get your cell phone ready to snap pictures of a random woman’s lovebox.

Step two-tear her clothes off. Don’t just settle for her pants coming down, go ahead and pop the top off, too. Tell her you have to monitor the fetal position or some other B.S., but go ahead and treat yourself to a peek at the milk jugs. You’re sacrificing your time, this is the immediate payoff.

Delivering the actual child is pretty simple. Hunker down right in front of the bay doors and catch whatever comes out. The little bastard will be slippery, so hang on. If you screw up this part, you can kiss all the potential nookie generated by your hero show goodbye.

Wrap the hungry little beast in your shirt the hot little Latina reporter who shows up to cover the story gets a good look at your rock hard pecs. If you have a squishy midsection, you can use the mother’s shirt instead. She’s going to be distracted anyway, and chances are good that you’ll have some time to ogle her goods a bit more when things have calmed down a bit.

Finally, make sure the new mommy has your fake name and the number to your disposable cell phone. If you don’t already have one of each, you probably are stuck in a relationship. That hot mess could have been avoided if you’d have told the bar fly you hooked up with that your name was Slade Maximus, and gave her your backup phone number. If the girl ever get attached, you can just send your buddies all the sexy pics she had let you take when she was plastered on White Zinfandel and pitch the phone. You brought that whole ‘commitment’ thing on yourself.

Anyway, when her girl bits recover from the kid she pushed out, you have an easy, hassle-free fun time. She won’t want to bring you home so her kid doesn’t get confused, and will work twice as hard to keep you happy because she knows she comes with baggage. High risk, high reward. See you next week.