Books are dead, and babies killed them???
Babies aren’t reading. Is it the subject matter? Could it be the price of that brick and mortar retailers are charging for these printed-out eReader-offerings (archaically known as “a book”?!) Is it their lack of reading comprehension and patience to hold something still for their overwhelmed eyes and sensory circuitry to focus on?
Babies, or post-eggie-cummies-womb-weasels, are only concerned with themselves and the power their cuteness wields. These smol pre-dults are itty bitty megalomaniacs who need to maximize their peak existence before the rest of their life is a never-ending nadir of disappointment and cowardice.
Self-help books are the last of the nerd-manuals that move units. Self-help books with swear-words in the title, move maf*ka’n pallets.
Putting a censored cuss word on your front cover is such a common practice today that it’s no longer a trend, but a got-damn sh*t-sucking genre of literature!
Unfu*k Yourself, How to Get Sh*t Done, and Being A Cunty-C*nt Will Unleash Your Inner C-word are a few successful examples and one I made up (it’s my follow up pitch,) of the power of the naughty-term revolution.
I present to you my debut offering for your consideration: Grow The Fuck Up – A Newborn’s Guide On How To Stop Being A Tiny Useless Idiot Bitch Who Needs Mommy and Daddy To Do Everything For Your Marriage-Wrecking Ass
As my agent, your job would be to take a percentage of my book deal. It’s a self-help, children’s, and obscenity-title mashup that publishers say they want to print at their cocktail parties but don’t have the fugging guts to!
Below is the chapter outline for the bible-level selling goliath that you’re hesitating on for some reason, DAVID.
Chapter 1: Run Before You Crawl, Ya Chickie-Sh*t Child
This chapter will jumpstart a bambino’s go-nowhere life. Most Lil’ nippers let life pass them by, but the dumplings that read GTFUANGOHTSBATUIBWNMADTDEFYMWA, chase that shit down, regardless of mechanical skills. The whole world is trying to quarantine you from your true potential. You already have tall-white-guy-from-Shawshank-Redemption-shit-drain-escaped your mother’s birthing prison, it’s time to sprint to that-random-Mexican-town-and-work-on-a-boat-and-wait-for-your-Morgan-Freeman-friend-(the ghosts of your twin you ate during the initial stages of pregnancy) and GROW THE FUCK UP.
Chapter #2: Epically Shit Your Diapers To Display Dominance Over Your Helpless Parents
Incontinence comes with the bb territory, but just cause you made caca and peepee of your Huggies doesn’t mean you are the inferior one in the child-legal guardian dynamic. Your parents are the cucks in this situation. Your existence is gonna drain THOUSANDS of dollars from their bank accounts in the next 18 years and you probably cost them their only shot at true happiness as a couple. Make every poopie diaper like it’s your last and they’ll keep coming back for more, because they are some sick type of shit goblins who need defecation pampers to feed their unstoppable perversion (no kink shame.)
Chapter 3: Breastfeed Yourself By Sucking Your Own Infant Clit/Dicc (Not A Metaphor)
Not a metaphor, literally do this, kiddo.
Chapter 4: Do The Uterus Diet: You Are What You Eat; Only Consume What Made You In The Womb:; Eggz and Cummz (Read As:;: Eggs and Cums)
This is like Paleo but less douchy. You ain’t no caveperson. You’re so extra. You brunch, and you brunch so fucking rusty raw. Only nosh on egg dishes and bowls of what looks or smells like come (yogurt, oatmeal, diet coke.)
Chapter 5: Go To Therapy…Now
This one is important…LMFAO, this one was a test! Don’t ever go to therapy. You are in control of your chemical imbalances, of your scary times that you’ve blocked out, and the self-medicating baby addictions that have manifested. Therapy is for proto-toddlers who are unwilling to white knuckle what separates the GTFUANGOHTSBATUIBWNMADTDEFYMWA baebees from the non-GTFUANGOHTSBATUIBWNMADTDEFYMWA cherubs. Therapy gives you comfort and the tools to better navigate the hardships of your past, present, and future. You are fucking invincible, you get to suck on tiddies for free because of your age. You don’t need any crutches. You can’t even stand!
If after five chapters outlines, you aren’t ready to be my agent, you probably were the type of tot that this book isn’t geared towards. No offense. I just gotta speak my truth and ignore any criticism, negativity, reasonable advice and haters like you who personally have, and always have, had it out for me since day one. This is personal. You passing on this is an attack on my soul and I will retaliate appropriately.
If you are interested, Venmo me @DonnyRad whatever you can as a deposit!