I Have Much to Do in Four Months

As mother mentioned yesterday, this week marks the fifth month of my uterine lodgings. It seems like just yesterday I was inspecting my new domicile, wiping dust from the chandeliers, and hiring a landscaper for my vast gardens. And while I have accomplished much, I admit I am beginning to feel the pressure of completing my many endeavors before I rocket from the womb at 120 mph. Here is a list from last week that I finished:

Well, most of that is already done, and I have been able to throw a football into space for some time. One of those does remind me that I need to get a new phone number. Some people call and call and call and for whatever reason, don't piece together that there's a reason they are not getting called back.

My list going forward will be much more ambitious. It won't be as earth shattering as walking on stage and posing for pictures with shoes I didn't even create, but I hope it will contribute in some way. It'll probably be something like solving global warming using my own radiant coolness. But nothing like what the Umlaut is doing. I mean - shoes... That's important stuff. I can't wait for her to show off her macaroni necklace while her face is covered in paste and glitter. Well, what's probably paste anyway. Seriously, she's retarded.

Growth Note: My snot is a mixture of honey and emeralds.

I'm Pretty Sure I Can Make a Pearl in Here

It's been 20 weeks or so, and now that I've spruced up the place, and thwarted that nasty lie about the Umlaut carrying my half-sibling, I have decided that I am in need of a project to bide my time. But not just any project - something grand, meaningful, and valuable. I was thinking taxedermy, but to be honest, hunting big game and mounting their heads on my wall seems unfair, as all I have to do is call an animal by it's name (my voice sounds like mother nature) and it will walk into the barrell of my weapon, or when I am older, my bare hands.

No, I need a project that truly demonstrates the genetic acheivement that I represent. So, after some thought, I've decided I am going to make a pearl while I'm in here. I'm thinking 3.5 - 5lbs should suffice. If an oyster can do it, I sure as hell can. Granted, my organs are made of solid gold and I will inherit a fortune on top of the one I create for myself, so why make a jewel? Because it's totally badass of course. You think Shiloh made a pearl while in the womb? Hell no. That tub of blubber barely knew how to make a number 2. No, I will come out of the womb at immense speed, with my scroll of possible names and present the largest pearl known to humankind. Eventually, it will be placed upon my scepter I should think. And with it I shall be able to see not just the future, but hear colors, taste music and roll it all over my arms and stuff like David Bowie did in Labyrinth. That was the shit.

I see... a waifish deep-voiced mouth-breathing
bony whore stealing your father.
(That's what I think he is quietly whispering!)

So, I'm definitely gonna make a pearl, and I've got enough calcium carbonate and conchiolin to get things started. I will also need a stimulant of some kind to get things going; grains of sand are hard to come by in here, but I have read that small pieces of organic material or other mantle tissue would do the trick. Seeing as mother is not a bivalve mollusk, but rather the hottest things on two legs in a little show called Six Degrees, the usual kind of oyster-mantle tissue will not suffice. However, I did just install a fine mahogany mantle above my fireplace, and I am willing to sacrifice a sliver of it to such an important and biologically impossible endeavor. I don't know where I will move my candelabra, but that is a project in itself!

Growth Note: My burps are composed by John Williams.

The Umlaut: Thief of Wallets, Hearts, Man-Seed

Reports are surfacing that father has also given his seed to the Umlaut. Friends, in this time of uncertainty, let us be calm. There are many reasons to believe this report is false, chiefly because it was published by a Brazilian magazine. The mere fact that it is a Brazilian publication should raise flags; it is a known fact that the people of Brazil are far too busy getting breast implants, stealing wallets and kidnapping tourists to even learn how to read, much less pick up a magazine. But let's look at the more subtle clue: The Umlaut supposedly knows her own age - this is highly laughable in and of itself. It would also follow then that she possesses the numerical acumen to count as high as 26. I think we all can agree that this thieving harlot can barely manage consonants and not drooling while talking, much less actual numbers. I'm sure someone just told her that her age equals how many penises she's had in her mouth before breakfast.

I think they are all laughing about how old the Umlaut is today.

The far more likely reason that there are pregnancy rumors about the Umlaut is that she ate a whole raisin instead of taking one bite per day for a month. She probably thinks she's having twins.

Growth Note: My umbilical cord is made of the fabric of time.