Naming your child after a Disney princess when you live in Florida is the lamest shit ever and proves you have zero creativity, even though you dropped out of one of our most prestigious art colleges.
I have more faith in the pregnant 14-year-old in my 6th period.
*Oh, my mistake. The baby was named after an obscure Bjork song that no one would ever think of first because of the Disney princess. I feel like these are all the things you consider during that nine months when you’re planning your baby’s name–you know, the one they’ll have forever. You think of how the name sounds, like a garbled mess in your mouth when you call them from across the house, or how the kids at school can make fun of the name, the possibilities here being endless.
But they’ll probably just call her by her middle name, which is a nickname already, of another fucking weirdo musician.
I’m more worried about how they’ll pay for all the medical shit this kid’s gonna have since no one ever thinks of hereditary issues and how to raise a family on a dishwasher’s salary.
Stupid fucking morons.