I think I know why you aren’t supposed to offer babies drugs. They have no will power, zero self-control, and are super annoying when you don’t give them what they want. I think my new idea of hell is being around a baby 2-days sober, just kicking a crystal meth habit, whose trying to quite smoking.

In The Munch’s case her crack is these “bunny” branded granola bars she calls “cracker.”

I can make her a meal fit for the Ritz Carleton and she will still point at the cabinet and demand I give her a “cracker.” We can be outside having the time of our lives playing in the snow, juggling fire, as I balance a litter of kittens on my head who are making balloon animals and blowing bubbles, and all that has to happen to ruin our time is for her to think of a cracker. If the word utters past her lips and I don’t pull one out of some orifice immediately a meltdown of epic proportions commences. She will literally fall to the floor like I just told her she came in second place in the toddlers in tiaras pageant crying “cracker, cracker, cracker.”

And of course, the stupid hippy health food store I buy this baby crack at discontinued ordering them! What is wrong with these dirty-tree humping-lotus tattooed-raw cacao snorting-jerk offs? Can’t they keep their twigs and berries in stock? Thank the multiverse my mom just ordered a box of them so my baby can have her fix!

“Ahhhhh what is this protective layering over my cracker!”

Notice the trail of tears on her cheeks… tears of unfathomable sadness because I didn’t open her cracker fast enough.”