This is the last of the official, scheduled baby journals. But fear not! I will still write humor when stuff occurs to me and promptly place it on this page. Don’t leave me alone in my shame!

While there will be occasional new humor on this page, and much of it will be about my offspring, the toddler journals are finally coming to a close. What can I say? No toddler means no toddler journals.

Here is the latest offering. It was written in a warm, happy glow caused by the Holiday season. After all, nothing gets a kid to pretend to love you more than the possibility of presents.

The journals are coming a lot slower these days. Cordelia is less of a baby and more of a person, so there isn’t too much to talk about. Except that, it would appear, my wife has gotten herself pregnant again.

The toddler journal is now being released on an every-other-month basis. What can I say? Cordelia is less interesting now.

But here is this month’s entry. I deconstruct preschool, Candyland, and my parental ability to mold my daughter’s mind in pleasing shapes

Here is the latest installment of Cordelia’s life, a month late. What can I say? She hasn’t been as interesting lately.

Another month’s worth of musings on my crabby, demanding child. And I also talk about my book, and how it will make my daughter hate me forever and ever.

It’s hard to tell what is most annoying: toddlers, experts who tell you how you should raise your toddlers, or stupid random strangers giving you their stupid opinions. This month, I unattractively rant about all of them.

The first book of these baby journals is now out. Here is another installment of the second book. This month, we talk about schools, pretend violence, and my child’s destiny.

Since the book version of the baby journals is almost out, one would think that I would be sitting back complacently. But no! Here, for your enjoyment, is the biggest journal entry ever! Cordelia is three now, and I have a lot to say about it. And children’s television. And old people.

As I understand it, people who have chosen to remain childfree sometimes read my column for reassurance that they made the right choice. This month will do nothing to recruit them to child-bearing ways.

This month, I heap piles of abuse on the hard-working, the helpless, and the undeserving. I also make fun of the local Children’s Museum, which I feel should have posters up saying, “Twenty Proud Years Of Preparing Children To Suck Up To the Man.”

This is probably the most bleak baby journal ever. And, when I say “bleak”, I mean “whiny” and “pitiful.” But I say bad things and swear and am all naughty, so it might be worth reading certain parts of it.

This month, we went to Amsterdam and did all the things you are expected to do in Amsterdam. Our daughter stayed home and failed to notice our absence. Worked out well all around.

This month, everything fell apart. The center could not hold. So we fled the country, leaving the baby behind. Also, we find that I am fat, but not very fat.

This month’s column contains the following words: “maggots”, “erotic”, “tentacles”, “cockfighting”. It is recommended reading for all members of our society.

This month, the third straight discussion of how toddlers are shrill, nasty little vipers. All signs indicate that this will be the main topic for quite some time.

Big news! The Story About the Baby is going to be a book! “The Poo Bomb: True Tales of Parental Terror” should, barring disasters, be published by the kind people at Andrews McMeel in Spring, 2005.

Of course, the book can always be cancelled. But I’ve already been paid my advance, so it’s all good.

Sadly, this development means that most of the Story About the Baby needs to be removed from the web site. But you can still read the Story About the Toddler, which is funny too.

This month, we discuss how toddlers are horrible little creatures.

If you, like me, are a decadent, big-city, weenie liberal, you are planning to see Fahrenheit 911 when the crowds shuffle off to see Spiderman 2. In this case, as I saw it last night, here is some helpful advice.

An unusually long entry this month, in which Cordelia encounters perky playmates, our toilet, and dead people. Also, I come up with a mathematical formula to exactly determine how much I am neglecting her on any given day.

As part of a long-standing Internet tradition, the content of this web site is written by two people: a fat, balding guy in his basement, and a 15 year old British girl at boarding school. This is pretty much how Slate.com got started.

Anyway, here is another missive from Daria, in England. It made me laugh.

The main thing we learn about parenting this month: scratching your ass feels good. No, really. Try it. Right now. ... Mmmmmm. Really takes the edge off your day, doesn’t it?

We have updated the Fun Games page to tell you about two of our latest games. Check them out!

First toddler journal in two months. Why did I skip last month? Well, toddlers aren’t very interesting. So sue me.

Eight month old pictures of Cordelia. I’m lazy. More cuteness and snarky comments. New toddler journal coming shortly.

Cordelia turns two. She’s a screaming freak, and she tries to bite me. And I can’t get her to properly pronounce “Crap.”

In this installment, I permanently solve the problem of divorce and unhappy marriages forever. I'm so smart. I should start charging for this stuff.

This month, Cordelia experiences Halloween and a terrifying experience with an ugly baby. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to go watch TV news reports on the baby-killing flu, scrape imaginary germs off my forearms with a butter knife, and whimper.

Helpful, Non-Threatening Quiz: Am I a Serial Killer? - What topic could possibly be more played and tired than serial killers? And yet, I still wrote this. So you have to read it.

This month, we deconstruct the noxious social construct that is “cuteness”. We also learn a good reason to have children. Or, at least, a less stupid reason.

This month, tedious playground anecdotes and a long rant on how children’s television is just not mean-spirited enough.

This month, I do a lot of bitching and complaining. Cordelia gets a face wound. Insects die to satisfy our bloodlust.

This week, we learn about the three most important known parenting skills: deflecting blame, changing diapers out of enlightened self-interest, and bottle rocket management.

A few words about breast-feeding in public, the insanity of small talk, and the loathing I quietly hold for people I meet on the street. Reading this article is perfectly safe as, at my wife’s request, I removed the line, “Everyone’s a girl when they’re face down.” So enjoy!

Organic farming has become much more popular lately. Apparently, vegetables weren’t ugly enough. They needed our help. If only we approached our meat with such fanatical sincerity...

For fans of the baby and toddler journals, here, as some have requested, are a number of other pictures of the baby. This will make our nightmarish adventures much easier to picture in your brains.

If you are one of my relatives, you shouldn’t read this baby journal. Heck, if you are a human, you shouldn’t read this baby journal. It is icky. Rectal thermometers are icky. Life itself is icky...

Someone sent me an article that made me laugh. So here it is. She claims to be a 14 year old girl. Therefore, there are two possibilities. The better possibility is that she is lying. Much worse, she might be telling the truth. And therefore, for already being funny at 14, she must be destroyed.

This month, we focus on our attempts to educate our toddler and mold her into a functional human being. I am confident that we succeeded.

From now on, our parenting responsibilities mainly involve handing her food at regular intervals.

In times like these, there is nothing more comforting than throwing a log in the fireplace, sitting on the couch, cuddling with my daughter, turning on the TV, and watching the war. Cordelia loved it when the buildings in Baghdad blew up. The plumes of fire were real pretty.

You can’t keep a good man down. Well, actually, you can. Give him a kid, and he’ll be pretty damn down for about 18 years. But at least I can bitch about it. So here’s more baby crap.

This is the upbeat and cheery conclusion to the first year of articles about my sprog. There will be more, if you care, but it will be more on a monthly than a weekly basis. Thank you for your attention. Oh, and if you know a good literary agent who thinks the world could use a funny book about babies that’s actually funny, let me know.

And so we’re at the end of a year. This concludes the weekly portion of our program. At this point, updates will come according to a much more sporadic schedule. Thank you for listening.

I need to figure out a few pieces of wisdom to pass onto my daughter. What message should I pass on to her to benefit her when I’m gone? I’m thinking “Crush the weak.” It really has a nice ring to it.

Some might think this week’s piece is unusually juvenile, depending as it does on using the word “anus” as many times as possible. I feel that this is an inappropriate objection, however, as it assumes that there is a possible circumstance in which the word “anus” isn’t really funny

The holidays are over. The presents have been unwrapped. The human race has ticked off another year of survival as we all crawl towards the day when nuclear bombs full of genetically engineered, vaccine-resistant smallpox get all of us, and our clones too. But at least our baby is still cute.

This week, we learn how all good things come from me, and how no bad things are my fault. Things are really looking up for me, I guess.

Before you read this, bear in mind that I did not intend to drop the baby. If I had the chance to live it over again, I would have not dropped the baby. And I ask you to join me in battle against my new arch-nemesis: the baby gate.

It turns out that it is possible to scientifically measure your child’s personality and, in particular, how annoying it is. It’s true! Join us as we put our daughter through the wringer and see if we win!

This week’s summary: Parenting books, bad. Drugs and TV, good. ... Hmm. That doesn’t sound so good. I’m sure, when you read the details, it comes off better than that.

This week’s baby article is late because our happy little household has been stricken with a disease. Sometimes, our baby sneezes and a huge glob of snot comes out, and I have to catch it with my bare hands before it lands on the rug. We’re having a great time.

The Story About the Baby, Volume 43.

If all goes according to plan, there’s only 2 short months of baby journal articles left. After that, we’ll see whether we keep the baby or not. Right now, we’re leaning towards yes. But you never know...

For loyal fans of our baby’s adventures, here are more photos. Warning: May contain mild amounts of humor. Very mild

This week’s article is an inspirational tale of man’s effort to win his daughter’s love. Or, if necessary, stealing the daughter’s love from his wife.

Hipsters beware! I come bearing the sword of righeousness!

The Story About the Baby, Volume 41.

Good news! I’ve just sold my first two children’s books: “The Three Fluffy Bunnies Have a Day At the Circus,” and “The Three Fluffy Bunnies and Steel Jaw Leghold Trap.”

This article should not be read by vegetarians or opponents of cloning. It will be upsetting to them.

Here is the latest baby installment, which has been horribly censored by my wife. She made me remove the f-word in one bit. So I suggest, to get the flavor of the original piece, that you mentally insert the f-word at the end of every sentence.

This week, we learned what our daughter hates most: Meat. Having fingers jammed in her mouth. And street musicians. Those dirty, dirty street musicians.

The Story About the Baby, Volume 37.

The next installment in our unnervingly popular series of articles about my baby. Note that this article contains an extra-high quantity of details about feces. Beware.

This week, I speak in favor of TV for babies and against toys for babies. If I had my way, we’d sell all of her toys and use the money to buy a TV for her nursery.

OK, so I think we can agree that clean clothes should be left on the baby, and clothes with big shit stains should be taken off. But what about urine? It’s gross, but invisible. Such a mystery, such a mystery...

More baby stuff. If you have a baby, enter and relate to us. If you never want to have a baby, enter for validation of your position.

A random stranger sent me an enjoyable article about the horrible injury he sustained to his tongue. Enjoy. Delight.

The Story About the Baby, Volume 33.

The Story About the Baby. As featured on memepool.com. Beloved of parents, non-parents, and people who are avoiding work. This week, learn how our baby’s face has scabs on it.

Today, on a Very Special ironycentral.com. We join every media outlet in existence in full observance of the 9/11 anniversary. Unfortunately, we don’t have any “plane flying into building” footage to show you, so our web site won’t give you nightmares in the way that, say, every single other one will.

Do you realize how hard it is to come up with these cutesy intros every week? As if anyone reads these anymore! It's part 32, for God's sake! I don't think you stay interested in your own child for this long, let alone mine.

The Story About the Baby, Volume 31.

While my child is a little darling, I can not be disappointed that she is not a clone of me. I feel that making her basically identical to me would be the best gift I could give her.

We were going to buy baby gates to childproof our house, but instead we just filled the whole place with a foot thick pile of styrofoam peanuts. Now the baby can roll down the stairs all she wants. Heck, I've been rolling down the stairs for fun.

I would update this web site, but I’m too busy looking at the baby! Babies are SO CUTE! We LOVE babies! BABIES BABIES BABIES!

Today, a lot of ranting and baby photos and, worse, baby videos (shudder). Sure, a lot of parents will hate me. But that’s a small price to be to be the Voice Of Justice.

The Story About the Baby, Volume 27.

This week, we revel in the delights of relief from one’s child for a week, and reveal the One True Secret to proper parenting. Wow. All this, and free too.

My child and I have a relationship based on mutual profit. She gives me love and personal fulfillment. I give her big wads of newspaper to swallow. I am a Bad Daddy.

Today, we deal with the two most important parts of the baby: the mouth and the ass. The sources of smiles and feces, the yin and yang, the alpha and omega, the top and bottom, the entrance and exit.

The latest jolly, happy, fun-time installment of baby caring joy. Thanks to the 4th of July, now our daughter knows what explosions sound like.

The Story About the Baby, Volume 23.

To be a parent means to learn to not say ’fuck’ 400 times a day. I just do not see how this is possible.

I’m sorry that the article is a little bit moist this week. It got within reach of our daughter, and she jammed it into her mouth and gummed it. Wait an hour before reading it, and it might dry out a little.

Another inspired rant from Peter Schuller. Remember. If 25 people died of heart attacks in a day, nobody gives a shit. But if 25 people die in a bus accident? It’s relevant somehow.

Ah, the ideal life. Taking drugs, lying back, and watching TV. No, not the perfect life for me, silly! For the baby!

The Story About the Baby, Volume 20.

This week’s installment is a mind-bending litany of sleeplessness, squealing, and mild abuse. Also, there’s some cutesy stuff, as if that makes it all right.

You have a child? Well, our child is cuter. Science proves it. Unconvinced? Read on for a rigorous demonstration of this surprising and incontrovertible fact.

This week, our baby became a grouchy little squeal queen. Mock our pain.

The Story About the Baby, Volume 16.

Yep. Those babies. They sure are interesting. In this installment, we also learn how and why they should be put to work in the fields from the age of one.

A haiku about my daughter.

my lotus petal
two legs, two eyes, and two arms
poo on her ankles

It’s hard to believe we’re already at issue 10. Every day our daughter is smarter and heavier. When she vomits now, she does it with class, with a certain confidence, as if to say “I am older now, and this barf is a thing I choose to expel. I am a free being.”

The Story About the Baby, Volume 12.

A brief, delightful pictorial essay.

Another installment in this delightful and uplifting journal about our baby. If you read it, you will learn what “Imperforate Anus” is, and who gets it. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

It’s hard to believe we’re already at issue 10. Every day our daughter is smarter and heavier. When she vomits now, she does it with class, with a certain confidence, as if to say “I am older now, and this barf is a thing I choose to expel. I am a free being.”

The Story About the Baby, Volume 9

More revisions for the Olympic games from yet another loyal follower.

More musings from parentworld. Brief summary: vomit smells bad. Poo stories are uninteresting. My daughter loves a cardboard disk. Also, I invent the word “scumfucking.”

Even more scientificalogical analysization of my baby daughter. It turns out that baby drool, when collected, concentrated, and processed, becomes a drug 200 times more effective than pot. That’s why you see so many babies in the inner city with sponges duct taped to their mouths.

The Story About the Baby, Volume 6.

Now it can be told. The ongoing effort to turn this web site into something like the Family Circus, but with the word “fuck”‚ continues. As a bonus, this article contains repeated usage of the phrase” Poo Bomb.”

Recently, I said that hockey should be shed as an Olympic sport, like the dead wood it is. Someone has rebutted my view. Here is his argument, with my response, detailing why he is wrong.

Note, however, I reverse my earlier view that Curling should be dropped. I’ve actually started to find that curling is kind of neat. Plus, the Norwegian women’s curling team totally gives me a chubby.

Our new daughter is now a month old. Already, she has captured our hearts with her plucky intelligence, can-do spirit, and sober appreciation of the world around her. ... No, wait. ... She’s captured our hearts because, if something bad happens to her, we go to jail. My mistake.

Olympic Fever

The Story About the Baby, Volume 1.

On Friday, January 18th, 2002, my first child was born. And you KNOW I’m going to have something to say about THAT.

This is not by me. It is by Peter Schuller, the first intrepid soul besides me to provide original content for this web site. You too can have an article of your own appear on this page. Only two things have to happen:

i. It has to make me laugh. Or fill me with horrible, soul-crushing rage.
ii. I don’t have to pay you.

Enjoy this long, clever, insightful rant. Word.

The Lord of the Rings: A Brief, Pleasing Analysis

Why The Internet Meets All of Our Needs

Parenting Camp

This is the first in a series of articles on my humorous experiences while having a seven year old boy stay with us. Being an only child who never wanted to leave the house, my experiences with the wee ones were very limited.

Warning. Sharp learning curve ahead.

Voting: Why it Sucks

I, like anyone with a soul under the age of 60, hate inspirational comic strips. Like, say, Ziggy. You know? Ziggy? That round-headed product of a burned-out sixties reject? The one who’s always clogging up the Sunday funnies staring into a sunset with his fucking cat and saying something wry and puckish like, “I am glad that I worship Jesus.”

You know? Ziggy?

An exciting travelogue, in which we celebrate and mock the French. Whether or not you plan to even leave this country, the viciousness and mockery contained in this article promise much delight.

In 1998, I wrote a short, sweet little bit of funny called the Theological Engineering Exam. If you do a web search on google.com for “Theological Engineering”, you will find hundreds of copies of it. Most of them are credited to someone who isn’t me.

But I’m not bitter. I only exist to bring other people joy.