Children, particularly children of my own manufacture, are not a particularly good idea. I think it’s safe to assume that promoting my future generation would pretty much destroy all other future generations.
Look at me. I’m an anomaly. Sexy charm and wry wit though I have, I should not be. Death has come for me many times yet something has always distracted him at a crucial moment, allowing me to slip back to the oblivion of life.
Any spawn of mine would likely be me but more dangerous. They’d probably have iPods and MySpace pages and worst of all: ambition.
Throughout my life people have described me as the type of person who could take over the world if only I wanted to, which of course I don’t. I’d much rather enjoy a cup of coffee and a cigarette after a meal of greasy hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, and french toast.
What if I failed to instill that belief in my children? What if they wanted to be something?
That’s a risk I just cannot take.