Women are weak, they can’t resist the magic of infant formula

Enfamil party pack. Syringe optional.

Apparently infant formula puts some kind of Jujitsu on women because women are deemed unable to resist the enchanting powder. From women’s reactions, it sounds suspiciously like doing crack. A mother with the best of intentions can easily slip into addiction and start using unless you have people much smarter than you to cover your back!

This is how I’ve heard it goes down — you break open the powdery substance and you get hooked. Even looking at a can of infant formula is like having the uncontrollable urge to walk towards the Poltergeist light. It’s simply unconquerable. While it might seem innocent at first, like harmless fun and games, the outcome can be bigger than life. Bigger than global warming, bigger than Kim Kardashian’s butt, bigger than Chris Christie’s underwear. They get you when you’re vulnerable. First, you go to the hospital and birth that 9 pound bastard, leaving you with wide open gap between your v-hole and your a-hole, and a headache the size of a Buick, the little devil on your shoulder now becomes quite enticing. The thought of of resting your breasts and all your other body parts sounds like a tranquil ocean breeze with a Mai Tai and crudites.

In fact, its power is so extraordinary, you can’t even think about it. If your mind starts wandering and wondering who within 100 feet is holdin’ the merchandise, you are already in trouble. But the worst part is the cruel gimmicks, designed to push you over the edge. Suddenly, just when your nausea sets in from lack of sleep and you start seeing triplets when you know you only gave birth to one — that fucking yellow and blue diaper bag, covered with cute little baby chicks shows up with a liquid in a glass jar looking just like a Starbucks Iced Mocha. Mmmm, that’s looks good. I’ll bet my little bastard will LOVE THIS! The little voice says, “Try me. I look like mocha coffee. I am so harmless and…milky.”

So you give it to your wrinkled, cone headed, half comatose, mostly unsatisfied and unimpressed hellion you just shot out of your crotch and then the damage has been done. It’s over mama. Clouds form above your head and Suzanne, that blonde who have birth a week ago and is nursing her twins in stiletto heals, along with the whole hospital staff, crying, “Looooooooser!” They all come in and laugh in your face. The walls start closing in and suddenly everyone in your life loses all their money and your neighbor gets run over by a giant monster truck and your parents get stuck in a swamp.

Next, your baby turns into a cyclops and starts growing extra toes. He gets sick just by looking at unhealthy people on TV. His eyes start to have permanent incrustations around them and his poops turn purple and orange. He always has diarrhea and he gets held back from Kindergarten because he doesn’t even know his own name.

Years later, he can’t find pants to fit him because his cookie and ice-cream addiction bloats him up to that of a size of a house. He is 16 years old now and he’s still in the 3rd grade. Specialists say he will never go to college or find anyone to love him. Even his own mother thinks he’s hideous. Meanwhile, he has to deal with deteriorating health and rotting teeth and then…he just dies. Just like that.

BECAUSE OF YOU!

Because YOU took the baby crack. Because you thought the diaper bag was “cute”. Because nobody was there to tell you not to do it.

You needed the government to step in and make sure you never saw the party bag of terror.

An authoritarian bureaucracy needed to guide your thoughts towards dead puppies or — ANYTHING besides infant formula.

But it is not your fault. You became a junkie and at the hands of the big boss, the cunning marketing director.

The power of the infant formula is greater than anything else in life. It controls your mind, plays tricks on your brain and makes you completely subservient to “the man”.

THANK GOD we have mayors like Michael Bloomberg in New York to save us from our feeble minds. We need someone who knows better what’s good for us because choices are really confusing. We, women, probably have a smaller brain than him after all. Hopefully he’ll use his ginormous brain to set up support groups as well, complete with 12 step programs to help those women who are already usin’. Don’t forget to fully fund it either. Recovery is expensive.