The first time I saw the bumper sticker that says "Keep Your Kids To Yourself," I immediately knew what it meant. Many times, I've felt like saying that to you and quickly hanging up after falling victim to your twice-weekly "babysitter crisis" calls to my home. As if I, and your other network of suckers, don't have a life ourselves. You don't pay us because you can't afford it, and when I come over to watch your sassy, manipulative little brat, your apartment is trashed. Plus, except for some moldy organic-tofu concoction you've made up, there's hardly any food in the fridge. Sometimes I go into your bedroom, peruse through the vast piles of beautiful designer dresses on the floor, and wonder how in hell you can afford these, since you can't afford to keep a consistent amount of edible material in your place or pay the babysitter. I also look through the mounting pictures of your interchangeable musician/artist lovers and think it's no wonder they dump you all the time! You're insane! Just a simple trip to the grocery store with you and your pest is a nightmare. You two scream at each other until you get the cashier to feel sorry for you and give you money out of his own pocket because you don't enough to pay for all your organic hype. Well retard, if you took a little time away from the boys and spending your entire child-support check in the boutiques, you'd maybe look into low-income housing that is targeted for young single mother charity cases just like you, get a real job, or even wash your dishes once in awhile.