You know what the absolute worst thing about being a parent is? It's when you're reading a magazine or watching the news or getting ready to turn off some crap movie, and suddenly a little kid dies, or is taken hostage, or is getting yanked through the departure lounge of an airport crying no daddy don't go, or is miraculously pulled out of the rubble of an apartment building after an earthquake two days ago. Pretty much any cheap shit Hollywoody emotionally manipulative stunt, real-life or no, involving a child of elementary school age or below that would make a person of average I.Q. roll his or her eyes in disgust, well, that kind of thing now makes me weep. Pay It Forward? Can I have those two hours of my life back? No, and to top it off you murdered Haley Joel Osment and made me cry for ten minutes. So that's two hours and ten minutes and what's left of my dignity you owe my procreating, breeding, breastfeeding ass, Hollywood. New York Times? You owe me big time for what you left on my doorstep this morning before I'd even had my waffles.