Just Call Me Beaky Buzzard

by Bambino Helsel

No-o-o-ho-ho-hope! Nope nope nope... don't wanna do it. Don't wanna come out... n-n-nope!

Where I am, it's a toasty mid-nineties 24-7 with good humidity. I have my own private swimming pool. Out there, it's... well... it's Ohio in November. Not only the weather colder, but bounces back and forth between colder and hella-freakin'-colder more often than I get my lunch personally delivered via umbilicus.

You want me to leave my own personal Mexican Riviera to flail around in an arid bassinet like a shell-less wrinkly pink turtle? Madness, Mom and Dad... you speak madness.

Trust me, everybody is better off the way it is now - OK, maybe Mom's shouldering more than her fair share of the efforts - but it will be no blissful stroll through a pristine pastoral park for her out there, either. As it is, she only has to eat once. When she eats, I eat - it's all good! Out there, she needs to eat, then feed me - which in this weather can prove more than a pinch uncomfortable. In here, I make no waste... none that you can see, at least. Once I'm out, you'll both be elbows deep in my butt-guacamole every six hours or so until I'm potty trained.

Potty trained... hmmm... Bambino senses an angle. Let me stay in here until it's warm again and I'll come out fully self-sufficient. I'll learn to walk, poop, clean myself up... heck I'll even take on web design while I'm in here - I've got the time! Just don't make me come out... because I don't wanna.

I'm quite entrenched on this topic - I'm inside until June or July. Period. Go ahead... try your worst. Tape iPod buds to Mommy's tummy and play Warrant non-stop for days on end like I'm some pre-natal Noriega - I ain't budging. That whole "weather" concept can kiss my silky smooth butt.

You're gonna have to come in after me like Elian Gonzales. If you think you're uncomfortable NOW, Mom - think about the ATF storming your womb. I'm not coming out! Nope. Noo-ho-ho-hope! No-o-o-ope nope nope nope. I don't wanna. Nnnnnnope.