My brother and his wife have been banging. They have been sexing with one another. I have come to this conclusion based on the following evidence: 1) She recently became pregnant, and 2) the mailman who comes to their house is ugly. I believe these two pieces of strong evidence are proof that I am soon going to have a legit niece or nephew. So naturally, I’ve already begun scheming.
Yes, despite the universe’s best interests, a new era of Ryans will soon emerge. Many of my readers were hoping my family’s DNA would die out. Well, tough luck. A new Ryan will be born next year, and though it is not MY kid, I still plan to teach it to be just like me. EXACTLY like me.
I’ve been putting together a solid plan for about a month now, so today I’d like to announce my Baby 1.0 agenda. This is the brainwashing I’ll be implementing in the baby’s first four years. Baby 2.0, age 5-9, will follow with teachings of the greatness of Rowan Atkinson and why the band Pavement is better than hip hop music. I will also provide numerous viewings of movies where a normal person snaps and enacts bloody vengeance.
Here are just a few of the other horrid things I hope to accomplish with this baby:
- To give the baby confidence, I will only refer to him or her with a regal title. Lord Ryan if it’s a boy, and Queen Bitchslayer if it’s a girl.
- I will do everything in my power to ensure that the baby’s first words are lyrics from a particularly explicit “2 Live Crew” song. No, not “Me So Horny.” One of the songs that was too dirty for them to clean up for radio airplay.
- If possible, I’d like the baby to have a birthmark just like Mikhail Gorbachev. I would also like the baby to speak in a thick Russian accent and pound its shoe on the table like Krushchev when throwing a tantrum.
- When the baby is born, I will show it a picture of Packers quarterback Aaron Rogers. If the baby smiles, I will swap it with someone else’s baby at the hospital.
- I plan to convince the child that it is adopted, and Lionel Ritchie is its real father. I will then play the song “Dancing on the Ceiling” for it, and explain that Lionel wrote it after making sweet love to the child’s mother on a soiled futon. Then I’ll reveal I’m just kidding, and that it was actually Peter Gabriel.
- I cannot stress enough the importance of buying Pop Tarts instead of Toaster Strudels. This fancy Toaster Strudels shit is for cowards.
- On that same note: Coke, not Pepsi. Whiskey, not bourbon. Batman, not Superman. The Sex Pistols, not The Ramones. The niece/nephew can choose whichever Muppet it would prefer as its favorite, but must always understand that Kermit is the most important Muppet. The Muppets would be a disorganized bag of shit without him, and I will not have him disrespected.
- When the child starts walking, I will buy him or her a cape as a gift for the next birthday. It will be made of velvet. I will have an identical cape, and we will wear them together whenever we hang out. The capes will have the words “Eat shit and die” embroidered on the back.
- For the child’s fourth birthday, I will teach it everything I know about self defense. So basically just how to run away, and how to scream really loud like a girl so the attacker will become embarrassed of you and leave. Groin kicking will also be taught, but as more of a fun recreational activity than as a defensive tactic.
- Note for the parents: If you ever ask me to “head out and grab some diapers,” there is a 75 percent chance I will recreate the scene from “Raising Arizona” where Nicolas Cage steals diapers from a convenience store. I may also do that for my own amusement, without any prodding from you.
- By the time the baby is old enough to play Grand Theft Auto (age four), Rockstar Games should be on GTA 8 or so. By then, the game will probably let you rape animals and force feed innocent pedestrians their own anuses. I can’t wait to share that joy instead of just keeping it for myself.
- I plan to play the same gag on my niece/nephew that my father used to play on me. When I see it watching Mr. Rogers on TV, I’ll walk by and casually mention that Mr. Rogers is gay. When the child protests, I will mention something about seeing his gayness confirmed in the newspaper that morning. When the child protests again, I will smile broadly, say, “Okay, if that’s what you think,” and then smugly walk out of the room without ever admitting that I was joking.
- The most important bit of brainwashing is tricking this baby into thinking I’m the Cool Uncle rather than the Creepy Uncle. This will be difficult, because I’m clearly the Creepy Uncle. There is nothing I do that is in any way cool, and a million things I do that are infinitely creepy, starting with this column. If my niece/nephew ever asks, it’s important that everyone tell him or her I’m a very successful doctor who spends all his free time volunteering for animal rescue shelters, and not some deadbeat who scams the elderly with a fake life insurance company that I somehow tricked Alex Trebek into sponsoring.

Perhaps I’ve said too much already.