Blogging babies

The world doesn't just begin and end with a diaper change. There's a lot that goes on in between morning and afternoon naps and no mother, father or sad little parental figure is going to stop us. Babies just gotta blog.

Wait, how do I get back to the Times?
So, wait… you’re telling me this thing can’t do 3D? What crap is this?
What… that? Oh no, that’s not my Facebook page. No, I was working on… a top secret project… I can’t tell you much more. But it involves people, procrastinators, mostly, and virtual stalking. Get back to me later and I’ll have some more deets. 
"I’m sorry… let me get this straight: These… monsters… are computers? It’s not, like, a vintage mini fridge? I mean, how can you possibly iron out your html while updating Twitter? You parents are hilarious."
"Nuts. I so hoped the Bronx Zoo cobra would be able to swing by my place and take a bit of my brother before turning himself in. Damn."
"How can you possibly go on living your normal life know that Knut is no more?! I’m just… beside myself with grief. I… I don’t even think I can blog today."
"Ohhh Rebecca Black. What IS this crap? The production is terrible - I have better lighting in my playhouse - the wardrobe choices are amateur and the lyrics… are you kidding me? My little brother babbles better. And yet… that tune is so dangerously addictive. Ugh… I hate enjoying this.”

"Ohhh Rebecca Black. What IS this crap? The production is terrible - I have better lighting in my playhouse - the wardrobe choices are amateur and the lyrics… are you kidding me? My little brother babbles better. And yet… that tune is so dangerously addictive. Ugh… I hate enjoying this.”

"Let’s see… well, here’s your first problem. There are no images showing up. That’s sure to be an extra div in your html. Those divs are tricky, man. If I had a dime for all the extra divs I’ve found… I tell ya, I’d be able to afford that Disney vacation instead of wracking up these overtime hours. Am I right, or am I right?"
"Alright, Frank, I get it. You looooove The Times. We asked for a send-off, not a love letter. If you loved it so much why are you leaving? WHY? You… Turncoat!No, I’m sorry, Frank. I’m just emotional. Go. Just… go.”

"Alright, Frank, I get it. You looooove The Times. We asked for a send-off, not a love letter. If you loved it so much why are you leaving? WHY? You… Turncoat!

No, I’m sorry, Frank. I’m just emotional. Go. Just… go.”

"Yup, it’s offish. I’m over you Charlie Sheen."