Daily Operation

Curiosity Killed the Buzz

I was given a three month trail subscription to Netflix for my birthday by my brother-in-law. Quite a gift. Especially for a doc-hound like myself. Traditional rental stores can’t possibly be representative and make any kinda money.

For that reason, I’ve used my subscription mainly for renting documentaries. It’s been pretty rewarding. I’ve learned about Thelonious Monk, corn, white-collar crime, steroids, farming, race relations in the 1960s, James Brown, murder in West Memphis, basketball, Mike Tyson…tons of illness.

There’s a function by which you can watch certain movies instantly and they’re streamed to your home computer without having to wait for home delivery. Pretty slick and makes it damn easy to just audition things that you don’t necessarily want to waste time waiting on and then sitting in front of for an hour-plus on a weeknight. So one morning, I was searching through the documentaries and to prepare myself and educate myself on fatherhood and the madness that awaits me, I found film in the documentaries called “The Business of Giving Birth.” Failing to read the synopsis, I adventurously just click “WATCH NOW” and it begins to stream and it appears across my 17″ screen.

The first portion of the film was relatively boring. Doctor here, doctor there. Some lady talking about giving birth in a kiddie pool (man I thought peeing in the deep end was an offense…imagine they’d rip up your membership for good if you birthed a baby like a mommy manatee). Boring stuff. Altogether, I was pretty disinterested, but decided that before I shut it off, I’d pull the little progress bar across to the 30-minute mark, the 45-minute mark. Just make sure there was nothing I really needed to know except people are still having babies.

More doctors talking. Making good points, I’m sure, but I know nothing about what they’re talking about.

Then, with no preparation at all, my body is paralyzed in fear when I see this nastiness.

Ricki Lake laying in her bathtub wearing not even a wash cloth with her ankles waving around in four different zip codes, screaming, moaning and pushing a melon-sized baby through her ta-ta.

Fail.

Don’t really care what kinda week you’re having, that’ll be the low point and it’ll only recover from there. I’ve been scarred, though. So fathers, watch yourself. There’s way too much information out there. And there’s a brutally sickening video of Ricki Lake doing what nature does in her bathtub. Check yourself, homie.

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