Diary of a Three-Year-Old Alcoholic

A few days ago, the Associated Press reported a three year old to be diagnosed with alcoholism, making him thought to be the youngest alcoholic in Britain. How does a child who's usually too busy collecting Pokemon to chug a Corona become an alcoholic? It typically results from parents leaving half full beer bottles lying around the house. While some parents are apathetic to the health hazards, others actually encourage it, fancying that if their prepubescent child drinks, it somehow makes them -- the laid-back adults -- cool, quirky, and relatable. (Brooklyn hipsters who bring their kids to bars, I'm looking at you).

One particularly chilling video depicts a father videotaping his beer chugging five-year-old boy. Sir, we may live in an age of self-absorbed viral videos, but no number of Youtube hits can justify you giving your son brain damage.

If your toddler is an alcoholic, you probably do not grasp the long-term physical and legal consequences of your actions. Below, I have republished the tragic diary of the three-year old alcoholic. Consider it both as a warning to negligent parents, and a service to humanity. I can only hope that these careless caregivers might finally understand the hidden social horrors their children endure each day, and eventually, stop filling their baby bottles with Jack Daniels.

January 12, 2011
Just finished a long day of mowing the carpet with the little balls that pop up and down. I was looking forward to kicking back and watching some Yu-Gi-Oh on the DVR, but, of course, we're out of Count Chocula. I spotted a bottle of Rolling Rock on the kitchen counter. Yes, it's beer; yes, I'm not supposed to have it for another eighteen years, but Dad drinks it in his underwear all day, why can't I drink it in my diaper? A toast: to Baby's First Beer. Alright, breaks over; gotta get back to hitting things with a wooden hammer.

January 15, 2011
Bath time rocked today. I sunk thirteen rubber duck boats -- overall, a very productive session. Normally, I'd hit the ol' crib, but my imaginary friends keep peer pressuring me to grab some PBRs with them. I guess two or three can't hurt. Knowing these guys, I probably won't even get to bed until at least seven.

January 16, 2011
Woke up with the worst hangover of my life: dizzy, nauseous, and of course, I crapped myself. I'm never drinking again. Breakfast is in ten minutes, I'm just gonna wear some oversized baby sunglasses, sit in my high chair, and play it cool. Whoops, I'm being picked up and carried to the kitchen. Great, everyone's drinking mimosas. Are they trying to torture me?

January 22, 2011
Older sister Emma insisted that I play house with her. I played the husband, and to be honest, I'm not ready for this type of commitment. She gave me her See n' Say toy, which is nice, but did we have to spend three hours playing it? I get it: 'the cow goes moo' 'the horse goes nay.' Baby needs a goddamn drink. Of course, Emma, starts yelling and screaming -- always with the screaming. I grabbed my overcoat, fedora, and Fisher-Price briefcase, and crawled the hell out of there.

February 4th, 2011
Haven't had a nap in a while. I mostly stay out late at McGuinty's getting my drink on. I've been hanging with my buddy, Earl Grabowski, from bowling. Earl's a middle school janitor, huge Ravens fan, drives a souped up Buick, and has a pirate lady tattooed on his right arm -- all in all, he's one crazy Pollock. He's forty-eight and a half years old. Anyways, I'm way too drunk to go home. If Mommy catches me coming back this sloppy, I'll get the spanking of my life.

February 10th, 2011
Gah, I'm such an idiot! I said I wouldn't do it, I promised myself I wouldn't do it, but Christ, I did it. I drunk dialed Elmo. Right on my Sesame Street cell phone in the back of McGuinty's. I feel like such a moron. I got his 'Hi, I'm Elmo!' voicemail -- as usual -- and left some rambling message about wanting to count, and how I missed finding triangles with him. Frankly, I could go for some boobie right now. Earl Grabowski agrees.

February 18th, 2011
Well, I got kicked out of McGuinty's. Some jack-wad thought it'd be funny to pinch my cheek and tickle my belly. Normally, I'd count to ten and shake my sillies out, but I just couldn't let this one go. I admit it: I was drunk; and I was a very bad baby for breaking a Miller Lite bottle, holding the jagged glass to his throat, and threatening to slice him open like a pig. But c'mon, I'm three -- I don't know any better! As two bouncers dragged me out of the bar, I reminded everyone how the pig goes. It goes 'oink-oink.'

February 19th 1:30 am, 2011
DUI number three. I crashed my brand new GI Joe Powerwheels right through a plate glass window. I'm pretty sure Toys-R-Us is gonna mark it totaled. Earl Grabowski is dead, and I have a boo-boo on my knee. This must be what other drunks call 'rock bottom.'

February 21st, 2011
Thirty-six hours sober now. I won't lie; it's been tough. I enrolled back in daycare, trying to get my life back on track. During sharing circle, I admitted that I was an alcoholic. Mrs. Mullens and the classmates were confused, but my parents were proud to watch me take my first steps. Then I apologized to the people I hurt while I was drunk, my imaginary friends, whom I now realize were my real friends all along. Purple Dragonoid, Super-Space Soldier, Optimus Prime, I'm sorry. Gary-the-Flying Snake-with-Laser Eyes, I hope you can one day make amends with your wife.

March 5th, 2011
I'm back with Emma, playing house again. Things are tense. Emma keeps giving me the cold shoulder, we don't have tea parties anymore, and my own Cabbage Patch Kid doesn't even recognize me. I take it one day at a time. But, I fell off the wagon once. It was about a week ago, while we were playing Ride-the-Wagon. As for the booze, I'm still sober, and I won't be having another drink for a very long time. Alcohol is a depressant. And besides, I'm a kid--life is way too fun to be drinking.