Pimp My Uterus

You may all wonder what it looks like dans la maison, so I've done a little etching to give you some idea of my living quarters. It's not much but, I call it home. I'm planning on sprucing up the place a bit now that I've just completed remodeling the outside of my uterine domicile. It used to look like this:

But thanks to some good old fashioned elbow grease (or more accurately - the amniotic fluid surrounding fleshy clumps which will ultimately become my perfect elbows), the uterus and its support system is now much more my style. Aggressive. Powerful. Combustible.

When I am born I will shoot out of mothers womb at 120 mph while singing the entirety of Carmina Burana. You think Shiloh Pitt Jolie did that? No, that hooker-lipped blob certainly did not. That bitch probably came out crying.

Growth Note: My first words will be winning lottery numbers.

Holy F*ck, I have X-Ray Vision

Engrossed in my studies, I went to dip my quill into the inkwell without looking, knocking it over and spilling ink everywhere (all over my new custom placental tile! Argh). Cleaning it up, I noticed I could see through my skin and read the text of my latest scientific study, "Autistic or Emiciated: A Behavioral Investigation of Thieving Brazilian Models - Famine Induced Kleoptomania or Just Retarded? I could read it all. Holy fuck you guys, I have X-Ray vision.

I know at this stage a fetus may have transparent or translucent skin, but I assure you I defy all convention - what with my genetic perfection and all - that this shit is for real. My power is so strong that I can't stop seeing through myself. You think the Gerber Baby could've done anything like this at 14-17 weeks? You bet your chapped ass he couldn't.

I have no X-Ray vision, but I can crap strained carrots all day!
(That's what I think the baby would say!)

So with awesome power, comes awesome responsibility. I'm beginning to keep a journal on my new powers and possible uses for them and shall return to this theme every now and then as my brain fully forms and other powers come into play. At this time, how can I best use X-Ray vision during my life? So far, here's what I've got:

Use the ability to see through walls to see explosive devices. This initially sounds like a good idea, but it would require me to be everywhere at once. To be fair, there will come a day where I literally am everywhere at once, but that is for another discussion. I think I will do this as more of a hobby and leave it to law enforcement and Superman.

Identify weakness and illness in people's bodies. Instead of submitting a patient to an often humiliating X-Ray or MRI session, I could just stand there and tell them what I see. Like seeing through walls to identify bombs, this could get very time consuming on a case by case basis. I would lean towards this, but to tell you the truth - hospitals smell like pudding and old people. And that is not the kind of environment I am looking for. Would you want a magic X-Ray baby to be grumpy and uncomfortable while it searches for illness? I think not my friends, I think not.

Spy for the Government. This seems like it would have the most large scale impact for the investment, but why would I do it at all when I will rule all Government in 2011?

Look through the earth's crust to the other side. That's more for geologists and hippies tripping on mescaline.

Look through offensive and defensive lines to spot the open receiver downfield. Now we're talking. This will be perfectly conmplimented by my dual future abilities of throwing a football through the offensive and defensive line players, and then healing them by laying my hands upon them. That's why father wears gloves when playing in the cold. He does not want to assist his opponents injuries and chills by letting the mere touch of his hand warm them and heal them. No, that would not make sense at all.

I will study the issue further, and report back if I come to any conclusions. I shan't be too hasty about this, because I could certainly do all of these things. Eye development and X-Ray vision is very serious business. I wonder when I will be able to shoot lasers out of my eyes. Cause that will be fucking rad.

Growth Note: I can translate the Dead Sea Scrolls and Zippy the Pinhead. Both are hilarious and ironic.

What's in a Name

The comment thread of this website speculates what my future name might be. In the body of the post itself the author suggests Robespierre which does have a certain dignified flair to it, I admit. But the rest of them aren't fit to lick my amniotic (ball)sac. To be sure, when I emerge quietly and smoothly from mother's silken womb, I will present my parents with a golden scroll listing the names I have prepared myself. While there are plenty of "baby name" resources, my favorite happens to be this one, which I believe does a bully job at identifying those names that are rare yet timeless. From that list I have narrowed it down to the following five:

• Ch Haymarket Faultless
• Ch Briergate Bright Beauty
• Ch Pendley Calling of Blarney
• Ch Rancho Dobe's Storm
• Ch Felicity's Diamond Jim

Other names I am considering:

• The Thickness
• Kevin

This list, much like my future genitalia, will grow so large it will disrupt wireless service. I invite you to propose your ideas in the comments section, if you can make sense of those opposable thumbs of yours. In the end, perhaps it doesn't matter what I am called. Jesus had a shitload of names and he did OK.

Growth Note: My intestines are softer and pinker than cotton candy at the old town fair.

The Umlaut: Thief of Hearts, Wallets

Clearly the Umlaut has attempted to steal father's wallet and she has been caught in the act. I imagine father is reprimanding her in the same low stern tones people use when the slow kid bagging groceries gets overwhelmed. It's in her blood to pick pockets, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't be scolded like the thieving minx that she is.

Where is it you plotting Brazilian thief! (That's what I think he is saying here)

My wallet was right here, and now it's gone. Follow that pickpocket in front of me (That's what he's probably telling the policeman on his left)

Growth Note: My ears are perfectly proportioned and can hear the future.

Is This Another Bone? Dear God it's Gorgeous.

It's been just over 14 weeks I think and I'm pretty sure, yeah - I've definitely got another bone. And it's fucking magnificent. I am not sure if it's a leg or arm or what yet, but I can tell you one thing, it looks like the polished alabaster of the world's most mystical temples - and for all we know, it just may be. I am not kidding you, this thing is the most gorgeous bone ever developed in the first trimester. I'll admit I've been a bit sensitive to the sheer enormity of my skull compared to the rest of me, but this new bone - Christ, I'd weep if my eyes had tear ducts. I feel more confident now, and ready to work on future abilities such as stopping careening locomotives with my smile and throwing a football into space. These and other feats of greatness will be made possible from this new bone of mine, I'm sure of it - because every single radiant cell will contribute in some way. I thought perhaps I would start to feel my heartbeat or something, but now that I've got this new bone, I can hold out a little longer. Good Lord, I can see my reflection in it.

Growth Note: My voice resembles the warmth and calm of a dreaming angel

An Open Letter to the Wenches at the Boston Herald

Dear Pirate Hooker & Cottage Legs,

I see you are hell bent on devoting your idle time to destroying my family. This nonsense you vomit forth reeks of a transparent attempt to get US Weekly to notice you. You say The Umlaut tells father to "stay cool" as if that means anything to her. This man has won three Superbowls and is considered the greatest clutch quarterback of all time. I dare say he does not need advice on staying cool from a 26 year old Brazilian mouth-breather whose main skills consist of walking deliberately and resisting genetic tendencies to steal wallets or kidnap people. But no, you hose-beasts made her appear a calming force for father. He could receive similar calm from a retarded beagle dryhumping his leg. Granted, she possess a sweet rack, but they still smell like DiCaprio's hands I bet.

The reasoning for father to have said nothing to this point is perfectly simple. They disagree on what kind of crown and robe I should have, and whether or not I shall have a scepter prior to my teenage years. As you will soon know, the moment I am born a new peace will wash over the world and flowers will bloom across lands both green and brown. Mother and Father are in a dispute over how to best control my effect on a planet that needs me.

The Inside Track Ladies on the Job.

So I hope that will clear things up for you, Street-Meat 1 and 2. Please go back to writing about John Malkovich sightings in Cambridge or plunging your head face first into the crotch of your current John.

Growth Note: My hair is more silken than the skin of the youngest geisha in Asia

Good News

Just as I thought, father let it be known he is excited to rear me. Though if my calculations are correct, there will not be much more for him to do beyond what he has done already. I have received several commitments from top 14 law schools and at least 3 are considering early-admittance, though some negotiation will be required as I have certain needs to be addressed. No, I did not say I am special needs. Quite the contrary. No, fuck YOU, you lummox.

I am pleased to see The Umlaut gained 14 lbs in a transparent attempt to look pregnant and compete with mother. Mother, whose beauty rivals Aphrodite herself, will not gain a single pound while she carries me to term because I am suspended in such a way that renders me weightless. Think of the force that pushes two magnets away from each other. Now in this case that force is called The Radiant Beauty of the Kings and Queens of Camelot. Because this beauty both comprises mother's womb, and permeates every cell of my developing body, I am suspended in a cocoon of magnificence, in total and safe suspense, while mother feels not a pang of pain nor additional weight. Also, my lungs don't work yet and I breathe (basically) liquified oxygen like the Ed O'Neill in The Abyss, which is so kickass.

Growth note: My eyes are wetter and softer than a baby Panda under a rainbow on its birthday.

My Gift to the World is Me.

I would have spoken up sooner, but mother said that if I didn't show myself I could continue to receive the New York Times Sunday edition at my placenta-step. However, now that my identity has been partially revealed, and my order for Times Select has been processed, it is incumbent upon me to defend my parents - forged by the gods themselves - from this blogosphere that hurls lies and mistruths upon them. I have no intention of remaining a mystery, blogosphere, so I will share with you self-portrait:

I admit it bears resemblance to Da Vinci (or Great Great Great Great Pop-Pop).
His work has been such an influence upon my craft.

I assure you I have many thoughts to record regarding father, mother, and The Umlaut who threatens to tear us apart, but for now I shall retire to my drawing room. I promised myself I'd install that HDTV today. And not with magic. My powers are terribly unpredictable at this stage.

Growth Note: My skin is perfumed with scents of Scotland's rolling grasses, with subtle notes of tropical citrus and sandalwood.