Gender-Reveal Events Are Killing People!
Gender-reveal explosion kills an expectant father in New York.
Can you believe that headline?
These gender-reveal parties, stunts and now explosions are dopey. I do not understand their appeal. I do not understand their prevalence in today’s society.
Who cares if your kid is a boy or a girl? Seriously, who cares?
Okay, if you’re the mom, yeah. And if you’re the dad, yeah. Maybe the grandparents do as well. But after them, who else really thinks it’s that big of a deal?
And then some shmuck in New York blows himself up to inform six people he’s having a kid.
But look, this isn’t the first time! Dumb people are dying all over the place with these gender-reveal explosive devices.
You know, those should be the keywords you should listen for: explosive device.
If anyone you know, ever says anything about having, utilizing, practicing with, or celebrating with or even having an explosive device, gender-reveal party or not, you need to back away!
I understand a firecracker. That is not an explosive device. I understand an M80. That is not an explosive device. I understand a bottle rocket. Still not an explosive device!
If you are dumb enough to cause injury to yourself with a firecracker, then so be it. You probably aren’t going to pass middle school anyway. You’ve peaked in fifth grade.
But an explosive device infers a complex piece of machinery, with a timer, with a red wire or a blue wire, and with something that looks like a brick of Silly Putty all wrapped up in clear plastic.
(Side note: Whatever happened to Silly Putty? Remember how Dagwood took on an even more cartoonish appearance when applied to a newspaper. Damn, we were easy to entertain back then.)
But back to the issue, explosive device! An explosive device is a bomb! And it’s not like a bomb diggety, yo! It’s like a bomb goes kablooey, bruh!
An explosive device is what Starsky and Hutch raced around Bay City trying to defuse. An explosive device is what Boris and Natasha utilized to blow up Moose and Squirrel.
Expectant fathers should not be playing with bombs. You have an upcoming child to provide for! And now you are dead! What good is that going to do the kid?
You know how the gender reveal parties back in my day went?
Well first of all they weren’t called gender reveal events. We referred to them as telephone calls to the grandparents. And they went like this, “Well guess who’s pregnant again?”
It was quickly followed by the telephone rejoinder, “He just looked at me and said I need a cigarette.”
And finally a few days later, was followed up with, “He went to the store. That was a month ago.”
Hmmm, have we inadvertently discovered something here?
Are all of these explosive devices simply a man’s way of saying, “I feel fragile at this time.”
Now that you mention it, maybe explosive devices and fatherhood go well together, after all!
Next week: Prom proposals. They are stupid. They must be stopped.