Guide to a happy life #3: Poke holes on sand before turning 8.
Early 2012, my girlfriend, Joan, and I welcomed Sam to our humble home for a short period of time, until her mom, a breast cancer patient, recuperated from her surgery. Sam’s family lives next to us, and at the time, not one from her seven brothers or sisters, not even her dad was willing to take care of her. Sam was such a lonely child, she rarely smiles. Her eyes were big and they showed certain sadness, as if she was aware how badly her mom was suffering and so she’s mourning in advance. We love her so dearly and we wished someday we’d be deserving to legally adopt her, but we just couldn’t, as her rich aunt would take her if (or when) her mom died. Her name would then be legally changed to Sarah. Her little, pink, plastic, tea set makes her really happy.
He’s 10 months old, innocent, unknowing, and was conveniently beaten by his mother several times to the point of bleeding and swelling. He grows up bearing the pain all throughout his body every time his mother goes home at night, drunk, and without food to eat. He will not have any sense of learning and will give in to his curiosity of how it is to forget using what a fellow sells him for five bucks. He’s going to grow up bearing scars and such hatred that would drive him into becoming one of those scumbags society gravely disowns. He bears them all until he gets to jail from stealing food. The police will abuse him morally and physically until he’s provoked to kill and hurt himself even more and be the monster that was made to be.
Now other people wonder why I could hate people this much.
Just a quick thought: men, women, people, who are extremely disinterested of raising children, let alone of being good at it, do not have a speck of right to multiply and should resort only to masturbation.