In Response to the Parents Who Wrote The Insanely Demanding Birthday Invitation

"Now eat the cake just like we told you, Son."

“Now eat the cake just like we told you, Son.”

                                                                                                                                        Image: Corbis via Mashable

A friend of mine wisely sent me this article about a couple of dingleparents (dingleberries on the ass of parental society) who sent out a letter informing their guests what they would like people to get their one-year-old. ONE-YEAR-OLD. One year. On this earth. Of course, someone took that shit and put them on blast on reddit, as they should. As they should.

As reddit user Lapys wisely noted, “He’s 1 for Crissake. Give him a fucking sock. He’ll laugh and throw it on the floor and you can pick it up and give it back to him and he’ll throw it back on the fucking floor. You can play floor-sock for months and never have to shell out a dime.

Listen, my six and four-year-old are certainly no future Mensa members but they, too, will open up all their Christmas presents and then play with the wrapping paper, bubble wrap, and packing peanuts for days. A one-year-old is just a cute, little vessel of bodily fluids. They could entertain themselves with random body parts they discover for six-hour stints. They giggle at sneezes. These are not Rhodes scholars, people. I only just started getting my kids gifts recently, as  my x and y axes of how they old they are versus how emotionally scarred they will be if I don’t get them a gift finally intersected on my graph of “How Not To Produce a Future Serial Killer.”

Not only did these parents outline the things they wanted their guests to get their kids, but the gifts, themselves, are a bit ridonkulous. I mean, if they don’t get a bag of dicks in the mail from every partygoer, they will be really lucky. Allow me to show you a sample:

-Water Table (specifically this unit because of how it drains)

-Play Tunnel

-Play Tent

-Find the Missing Cheerios book

I don’t know about you, but any water table I’ve ever had has been a total fucking nightmare, creating icky, slimy, wet babies and attracting bird shit like it’s got a goddamned target on it.

Find the Missing Cheerios? Really? I know where all the missing Cheerios are. They’re in your fucking couch. Your baby’s crotch. Your hair. The dog’s bed. And in all those nasty smelling crevices of the high chair.

And, listen, you can get my kids books but expect them to cry. A lawt. I mean, there are certain things that are expected at birthday parties, and one of them is that you don’t make my kid cry. And you know those parents who say don’t bring gifts and then you actually don’t and you feel like a giant dick? Yeah, they suck. I’m feeding you and plying you with wine, beer, and champagne so you don’t want to blow your brains out because you’re at a shitty kid party on one of your only fucking days off. So, yeah, get my kid a gift.

Here’s another snippet from the letter:

“If you choose to get <name is blocked out, but it’s probably something like Norbert or Alecsix or Moses> something that isn’t on this list, anytime regardless of birthdays or holidays, please be sure to always include a receipt going forward. When we return items without receipts, we only get about 50% of the value, so it is like throwing away money if you don’t include a receipt with the gifts. With formula costing us $80 a week, it is always nice to be able to return items that he doesn’t need to get formula instead.”

Go on with your bad selves! No, seriously, go on. Get the hell out and don’t come back. You two are fuckwads who don’t deserve to share the same air as all of us reasonable human beings. Here’s your goddamned present, and it’s a one-way trip to Mars. You’ll be so much happier, as I’ve heard aliens are impeccable about including gift receipts and they have formula on tap.


“Please refrain from personalized gifts that would be used outside of the house. Clothing with names is the #1 thing that leads to kidnapping, so we don’t need to broadcast <surely doomed child>’s name on clothing or toys.”

Seriously? Who is getting your kid tees with his name on it? Because you must hang out with a bunch of dicks just like you. It’s like a giant community of dicks around you if people are getting you that kind of crap. And, anyone who knows you and has read this ridiculous mission statement (it was a memo!) knows that <Loser of the Parent Lottery> will be packing up his shit and putting his thumb out, asking for a ride to AnywhereButHere … when he’s two.


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