Twatism

Figures show that fewer couples are choosing to have children, for what some people might find a surprising reason.

"I'm really worried that if I have a child it might grow up to be a twat," said Cathy Anonymous. "People often assume that I've not had kids because it would have meant sacrificing my career. But I'm a junior accounts clerk for a carpet retailer and I'd chuck that shit in at the first opportunity I got."

Mrs Anonymous admits that when she was younger she had assumed that one day she would have a family of her own. But her feelings on the subject have changed after seeing some of the gormless specimens that trudge past her house on the way to school each morning - mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging simpletons, who routinely wander out into the traffic without displaying so much a single, spluttering spark of intelligence. The kinds of cretins, she says, who lack the wit to reliably sit on a chair without falling off; children who electrocute themselves on a near-daily basis because they are unable to restrain themselves from sticking their fingers into every electrical socket that they come across; who have a favourite crayon based on how it tastes.

Fortunately, Mrs Anonymous's husband feels much the same way. "I remember what I was like at that age," Mr Anonymous told us, with a shiver. "I was a complete arsehole."

"Exactly," Mrs Anonymous agrees. "And look what he turned into."

"Well quite," her husband says.

"A total wanker."

"Absolutely," Mr Anonymous agrees.

"A waste of space. A dead loss."

"Yes, I - "

Twatism and the DNA Molecule

"A dim-witted, dribbling retard. A dullard. A charisma vacuum. A nauseating excuse for a human being, with less sense than an item of cheap furniture and the kind of personality that causes you to seriously consider changing your name and telling all your friends and acquaintances that you're moving the Venezuela."

"All right, steady on."

"Shut up, moron," Mrs Anonymous tells him. She's just getting going. "Anyway, the point is, there is no way in hell that I am ever letting myself get infected with anything that springs from this man's loins. I'm already looking after one helpless, slobbering bundle of animated lard that can't seem to go for more than six hours at a time without soiling itself. The last thing I need is the same thing again, but in miniature. So that's why I'm not having children, thank you very much."

It ever there was anyone more certain, more resolute and more relentlessly steadfast than Mrs Anonymous, then we have yet to meet them. Mr Anonymous evidently thinks so too as he sits politely, sighs gently and shrugs. "She's probably got a point," he says.

 

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