Figure 1: The Lindbergh Baby. This is the face of a kid who got what was coming to him.
Hello, it is me, the famed aviator and isolationist Republican Charles Lindbergh. I’m sure you know my story: I flew my plane, the Spirit of St. Louis, across the Atlantic Ocean, came home to great acclaim and parades, then got rich off that one neat thing I did. Something, something, something. Then I impregnated a human woman, who birthed my child, whom I affectionately named The Lindbergh Baby. Then that baby was kidnapped for a ransom and found murdered in the woods near my sick-ass mansion.
State Secret: My baby was an asshole. So now, I’ll educate you all on why my son, Lindbergh C. Baby deserved it.
1.) Curly-Haired Fuck. Get a haircut, you hippie. You’ve disappointed me. And what’s that smell in your room? Are you…are you smoking weed? You’re throwing your life away, you know that?…See, the Lindbergh Baby? That’s what I would have yelled at you if you would have just survived your near-beheading.
2.) He Never Grew to Adulthood. Who doesn’t grow to adulthood? That was literally the only job he had. Do you know why no one calls him “the Lindbergh Adult”? Because he blew it. He didn’t even die from something cool, like complications from lupus or a minor respiratory infection. No, he was just kidnapped, brutally murdered, then dumped in the middle of nowhere. You at least could have fought back, you weak fucking toddler.
3.) We Never Even Talked, So Why Should I Care? In the eighty-plus years since you’ve been gone, have you ever had the urge to send your everlasting soul back down here to have a chat with me? No, you haven’t. You’ve left me here with your mother, and what are she and I going to talk about? We have nothing in common; I’m a world-famous
aviator and outspoken member of the Republican Party, and she’s neither of those things. In fact, now that I come to think of it, even I don’t know much about her. Hold on, I need to look her up on Wikipedia.
4.) Free Publicity. In my defense, flying a plane well can only me so many headlines. It’s not as if people were saying, “Hey, remember that guy that flew that plane over that ocean that one time, then nothing else? Yeah, let’s do a bunch of interviews with him about how he flew good.” They don’t say that, Lindbergh Baby! They just don’t! So, yeah, some nights I just left your window unlocked in the hopes that some poor sap would kidnap you. And yes, maybe I hired the guy to finish your baby-ass, but does that really make me a bad guy? John Stuart Mill argues that morality is based upon what brings the greatest number of people the greatest amount of pleasure, and money brings your mother and I great pleasure. Therefore, your death was just a utilitarian action, you stupid baby. Dead babies bring headlines, and headlines bring money, honey. What, are you gonna cry?
5.) I Just Didn’t Like Him. Fuck this baby, I don’t know him. His vibe’s off, dude. Also, he made his mom cry…when he was very famously kidnapped and horrifically murdered.
Written by Charles Lindbergh, Staff Writer