BOOM, Barry!

Kids are a mixed bag. No woman is going to get involved with a guy that has a kid — they’re expensive, messy, and their innocent little eyes are always passing judgment. But on the other hand, they’re easier to train than dogs and can save you a lot of money on your taxes. I should know — the government thinks I have four of them.

You may have a lot of reasons to love your son, Barry, but women don’t. Saturday afternoons at Chuck E. Cheese’s aren’t the romantic trysts I thought they were when I bought $200 worth of prize tickets from my neighbor’s 10-year-old. That’s another reason I don’t like kids: They’re always looking for a quick, easy buck.

Something tells me that these robots crave the touch of a female humanoid

Players don’t have kids — plain and simple. You’ve got to find a way to explain away your son’s physical existence without committing to any of the baggage that comes with having a child: Baseball games, #1 Dad t-shirts, and Christmas. In short, you’ve got to play your son off as something else.

A cyborg.

Women love sci-fi, Barry, and underage androids are a lot more functional than underage children. Women won’t think you’ll have any problem taking them out on dates if “tucking your son in” simply entails stuffing him into a closet and unplugging his battery.

Besides, women will assume that your cyborg will become obsolete after a few years and stop requiring upkeep. Not true with real kids: They don’t leave the house until they’re 18. At $14 a pop, the six pairs of shoes you’ll have to buy them in that time might as well be a car payment.

Loving your son and denying that he’s your flesh and blood — or flesh and blood at all — are not mutually exclusive, Barry. A man can love a machine with the same fervor and passion that he loves humans. Just ask my parents — if you can pry them away from their electronic card shuffler, that is.

BOOM!