Dear Parents of Philadelphia,
You all have lost your damn minds. I’m talking, of course, about strollers here. These things are out of control. I saw one the other day with a full suspension, cup holders and upholstery made of fine corinthian leather. I understand the keeping up with the Joneses arms race that your life becomes when you finally give up and decide to start repeating all the mistakes your parents made – even though you’ve been swearing since you’re 12 that you won’t. And oh yeah, just in case you were wondering, when we aren’t masturbating while crying or cruising the internet for people to bone at 3 a.m., all us single, childless people are having a good laugh at you.
I also understand that you need a sturdier stroller for the city. The streets of Philadelphia are not smooth, as we all know. Heaven forbid little Caden or Dyylan spill his $9 raw, organic milk smoothie while you skirt from Whole Foods over to Anthropologie to buy a sexy little outfit in a vain attempt to jumpstart the old sex life. Why bother, when you know you’re gonna pass out in it anyway? Also, I’m pretty sure monied white folks are off the names that aren’t really names now that poor white people have picked up on it. I think y’all are back on classic names at the moment; so substitute Caden and Dyylan with Thomas or Nathaniel.
The two people who read this estimable blog are probably wondering why a guy who is, let’s face it, the male version of a cat lady would give a flying fuck about such a thing. Well, the thing is, I have to walk these sidewalks and I often run on them. There is nothing more frustrating than running the few blocks to the river trail and getting locked in behind some asshole who’s stroller takes up the entire fucking block. These people think that because there’s “precious cargo” aboard their push-powered hummer prams that they don’t have to yield to pedestrians in the slightest. Nope, they are free to go about their day blocking up the entire sidewalk with their retarded indulgence. Seriously, you’ll never get caught up behind one of these rickety bitches:
That kid looks just as happy as any third-generation trustafarian rolling about in a $900 stroller with anti-lock brakes and satellite radio. Myself, and everyone I know, were pushed around in these things in the late seventies. We came out just fine. Yeah, just fine.