Shake Your Money Maker

Patrick McLeod may have finally won the lottery.

The Cowtown white trash lottery, that is, when an Ohio grand jury hands down the indictment for shaking his two-month old infant to death. Because in the early morning hours of another random unemployed weekday, young Patrick was roused from his canned beer and schwag slumber by a child in need. In need of love. In need of attention. And obviously, in need of a better neckbrace. As a prize for his poor temperance and even poorer attempts at contraception, this post-partum abortive technique will likely land our hero a mandatory life sentence, with parole in 15. Who knows, after fifteen long years of pumping iron and his fist, with lots of practice rattling his cell bars, he’ll probably be able to shake the next baby in half the time. But more importantly, he may learn a valuable moral lesson during his stay in Ohio’s finest hotel, gaining in wisdom what he loses in years so he might be better prepared next time his ilk starts wailing at the crack of dawn. Better prepared to gather up his tender offspring and lift him from the cradle. Better prepared to grasp those small arms and look into those innocent, pleading eyes.

And better prepared to reap the financial harvest of a man who plans ahead.

In an American era of war, unemployment, and televised violence, we are confronted with dilemmas from the moment we awake until well after we fall asleep. To be greeted by headlines of dead soldiers, thieving executives, and American jobs moving overseas is enough to set any man off the path of truth. With feet sore from walking to the convenience store, and money stretched thin between generic cigarettes and diapers, a young parent must think quickly to survive. Try for a moment to stand next to Patrick McLeod on that fated morning. Your unemployment has long ago ran out. That cheating whore isn’t home from her third shift trick yet. You’re rummaging through an ashtray for a decent GPC butt, and the welfare check is still a good week away. A distant cry rises down the hall. Great, you think as you scratch the very same balls that started this mess, now you got shit in your pants, too. Much like your financial woes and bad haircut, perhaps if you ignore the noise, it will go away. But no, it only gets worse, until the shriek cuts clean through the drywall and into that stupid little brain, scraping away the THC resin and awakening that scrawny pit bull meanness that only a trailer could breed.

We’ve all been there, next to that loud drunken bastard, across the room that those chattering cunts and their sorority girl laughing, curled up with a snoring gay lover in a bed that just wasn’t intended for two people to share. Fists clench, the vision takes on a reddish tint, and suddenly the solution becomes glaringly obvious. The noise must stop, and the surest manner to stop any noise is to break the noisemaker. And if there’s any noisemaker easier to break than the neck of that reluctant date when she tries to pull away, it’s the underdeveloped vertebrae and neonate muscles of your own flesh and blood. But before you storm down the hall and fling your child around the room like a piñata on Cinco de Mayo, here are a few pointers to make sure your tracks in that cheap shag carpet are covered:

Rent a duplex
Any crime of passion deserves a fitting scene, and there is no better place to plant that tiny lifeless body than at the foot of a flight of stairs. Short of buying a big dog and dressing your child up as a giant tennis shoe, this provident measure will not only displace blame from your capable hands, but may even incriminate that whining cunt with whom you’ve been forced to live since you pushed when you should have pulled.

Learn the Moves
Find a shake you’re comfortable with, and go with it. Since your infant likely isn’t going to bounce back from ICU for a second round, you should practice with a more durable adversary whom you can trust to keep your brutality a secret – your baby’s mama. By maintaining a loving, nurturing relationship with your woman, and buying a pair of oversized sunglasses, you can refine your abusive techniques in preparation of the big snap.

Finish What You Start
Remember, while you might grunt through a few weeks on the assembly line with that half-ass work ethic, failure to follow through will likely leave you with a paraplegic vegetable you’ll be forced to spoon-feed and sponge wash for the next thirty years. An ounce of prevention is better than a hundred and fifty pounds of brain-damaged retard, and it’s a hell of a lot easier to snuff out the light now than pulling the plug in a crowded hospital room. Shake the child with authority, intent in your purpose, and remember your goal: Make the baby stop crying - permanently. Popularly employed methods include:

Side to Side – envision the child’s head as a bell clapper formed from soft bone tissue, and you’re ringing in the New Year.
Up and Down – turn down the lights and pretend your kid is a little Nigger with his pockets full of change. That money’s yours – and you deserve every penny. Incidentally, if your child actually is black, disregard this shaking business. You’ll likely leave a gun or crack pipe lying about, and Darwin tends to his own.
Front and Back – nothing severs a premature infant spinal column faster than saying “Don’t you understand I love you?” in the language of the ape.
Get Loaded
You’re always stronger after a few hours of Tennessee whiskey and cheap American brewsky, and your explanation to the authorities will be completely incoherent. Besides, you were probably soused when you conceived the little brat, why not make a toast to commemorate their “unconception”? Everything is more fun when you’re juiced.

Bury the Dead
Don’t call an ambulance when the song’s over. It’s a baby. They’re tiny. Take a minute to dig a tiny hole, or at least preheat your oven; hell, you could probably eat the thing before mama gets home. And if there’s anything we’ve learned from our Jewish friends, put the dead in the ground quick – you’ve got a will to read. But for youe own sake, think before you dig. Aside from the dog digging up the backyard and dragging Junior’s femur into the kitchen, the last thing you need is a baby tree sprouting up from the garden. And you’ll just end up having to shake that, too.

Talk to your Insurance Agent
Discreetly. Tell him you don’t trust that bitch further than you could throw her, and you know because you’ve tried. Take out a quarter million on the tumor swelling in her abdomen, and keep an eye on the market. With good behavior and a good accountant, that paycheck will grow into nearly $520,000 by the time the parole board hears your case, leaving you with a net annual income of almost $35,000. Pretty good money for five minutes of work, huh? With that kind of cash, you could purchase a hundred Asian infants fresh from the womb and have custom grips installed on their shoulders. And who said violence never solved any problems?