Boiiiiing!!!!

Congratulatory accolades are the order of the hour. Multitudes of loved ones are joyous about your arrival.

Those two (or three or whatever kinky shit your creators were into at the time) spent a climatic, orgasmic session of pleasure manufacturing you. Then, your constructors – they get a big ‘ol handshake or hug to express how ecstatic everyone else is that this toothless infant is here now.

Bundle of joy, they call you.

Hmmm 🤨

Welcome to your meatsuit, little one.

^{I sure asf hope you’re ready for the ‘time of your life’}

There you are, struggling to navigate this suit you’re dressed in. Your limbs jerk involuntarily, nobody understands you because of your finite or rather non-existent diction and verbal communication skills.

You make sounds with your mouth, but your care givers have no fucking idea what you want.

Century old practices are repeated, they assume that you’re famished, so they stick a boob in your mouth so you can enjoy a whitish-milky liquid from another meatsuit.

What do you know, it works!

You’re no longer making those piercing sounds, all seems well. Seems you were just hangry.

This continues for a few more months, you now learn to navigate your meatsuit more effectively.

You can sit on the rear, rounded part of your meatsuit.

The median of your limbs bend a little and you figure out that by slapping your palms down while moving that leg median (knee caps aren’t developed at this stage, so it’s just a part of the suit for now) helps you propel in a forward motion to mobilise you. They call this crawling.

Fun, isn’t it?

During this period, all you’re doing is blabbing and cooing while doing these silly motions, in return you get applause and encouragement!

Yay, right?

Now the suit teaches you balance, you now use the bottom part of your suit that has a couple of phalanges attached to it – little do you know that this part of your suit will be sooooo important later in life, that you can post those toes online and- – – wait, let’s not go there yet, stay with me!

So you’re walking! These wobbly steps are recorded. Date and time stamps using various electronic devices are used to commemorate this auspicious occurrence.

Your babbles and spit bubbles have now turned into phrases that other meat suits can now identify with. You’re now somewhat of a verbal communicator. You use your upper limbs and the little phalanges attached to them to make gestures. You point things out and you’re able to better articulate what it is that you want and need.

This seems to be getting better hey 😌

Your caregivers experiment more frequently with you now. They figure out what it is that your meatsuit enjoys. They shove an array of plant-based, animal pieces, chemically induced substances into the front upper-part of suit that presumably has teeth now.

Your facial expression is indicative of how you feel about these food items. Your carer makes a routine out of it and Bob’s your uncle.

I wonder if phrases like this can still be used in 2023. Bob’s your *insert non-offensive gender here* – again, I’m veering off topic. We’ll get to this absurdity in another journal.

So – you eat well

Sleep well

Shit well

You’re comfortable in your meatsuit now. Your movements are less static, you flow easier and you’re learning what’s harmful to your suit. Obviously with the help of your carer.

They illustrate that by engaging in certain activities, your actions may be hazardous to your suit. You don’t really understand and you wish to see and feel for yourself.

You often test fate by grabbing inappropriate objects. You’re rickety and unstable in the limbs for the most part and cause temporary damage to your suit.

Nowadays, care-givers are super attentive. Well, most of them. They proof your dwelling and make it super cushy so your suit damage isn’t permanent. For those who don’t understand metaphoric speech, they cover electric sockets so the little phalanges don’t get inserted and create a char-grilled meat suit.

Anywayyyyy…