Let’s Steal A Baby!
Honey, I’ve been thinking about it for awhile now, and I think we’re ready. We’ve been married for three years, and let’s face it; we’re not getting any younger. I think it’s time we steal a baby.
Let’s just do it. Our folks keep bugging us about grandkids, and maybe they’re right. Mike and Danielle, Ryan and Pauline, Ben and Jessica—they’ve all started families. It’s time we bite the bullet, steal a baby, and raise it as our own.
I know you’re worried about money and our careers. I’m only pulling so much in kiting checks, and you’re still getting the hang of rolling old men behind your strip club. But, who said you have to be absolutely 100% prepared before you can bring a child into your lives?
I think we’re in a good place, a place where we’re mature and emotionally ready to walk into a maternity ward and kidnap a cute little bundle of joy. I’ve already thought of a few names. If it’s a boy—Dillinger. If it’s not a boy—Rockstar. Or Lil’ Slugger. That was my grandmother’s name.
Listen, I love you, and I know you would make an incredibly nurturing mother/abductor. Remember the time that balloon of coke popped in my colon? You were so gentle and caring, and you had the maternal instincts to take me to that corrupt vet, Viggo. I’m sure he could recommend a good, corrupt pediatrician.
I don’t care what kind of baby we steal, as long as it had 10 fingers and 10 toes. And, if it comes already in its own car seat, that would be great, because those things are expensive.
What do you say, Honey? Are you ready to steal a baby with me?
I hope it has your nose.
