On Sunday, Donald Trump took to Twitter to accuse the media of “going crazy” distorting “so many things,” including his alleged ignorance about nuclear deterrence, his proven ignorance about Crimea and, most intriguingly, “the baby.”

Here is something that actually just happened, per CBS News reporter Sopan Deb:

At a rally in Colorado Springs earlier today, Donald Trump finally got a chance to spend some quality time with his emotional peers.

“Do you know who I am?” is never a flattering way to refer to oneself.

Should we be surprised that Donald Trump, a man who made national news for mocking someone with a disability, would vengefully withhold medical care for a sick infant? The answer is no, no we should not be surprised.

In yet another classic campaign stunt, Hillary Clinton aide Chelsea Clinton has committed to a nine-month strategy guaranteed to win key votes with both women and Pinterest users everywhere. That’s right. The Clinton campaign is having a baby.

“[Our daughter] is only 19 months old and is the most amazing person you’ll ever meet.” Doubt that. “I know all parents would say this about their children, but we are told this by people every single day.” Come on.

There’s a long tradition of parents rubbing whiskey on their babies’ gums to soothe teething pain. Pediatricians don’t recommend it, but it seems like American adults survived it relatively unscathed. Putting booze in a baby’s bottle, though, is a whole other thing.

Remember the thigh gap, the pointless and imaginary standard of female beauty? You’re never too young to have one of those. In fact, even a baby could/should have one! According to a handful of moms, this is true of Huggies, which possibly Photoshopped some non-touching baby thighs in a diaper ad.

The waterfall of word garbage that has been tumbling out of Ben Carson’s mouth rages on today, with a quote that manages to neatly link abortions, rape and slave ownership all into one great, stinking pile.

Is this what passes for genius these days? Oh man, gotta get from this short-ass perch to right there—right there—on that carpeted floor. Better rearrange the whole goddamn bed situation. Guy probably needs crampons and a hundred feet of rope to get back on the bed.

On his recent visit to Philadelphia, Pope Francis looked his younger self in the eye, remembering the childlike wonder with which he used to see the world before he grew into a man, rose through the ranks of the Church, and came to bear the strictures, hopes, and aspirations of an entire religion on his aging shoulders.

Why is Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, 10 out of 10 balls, “so excited!” today, according to a The Rock insider? A baby. A little baby Rock. As prophesied in Us Weekly 9:17, there shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Dwayne, and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit.

Kim Kardashian is currently pregnant with her second child. This is great for Kim and Kanye West and also me personally, because Kim likes to share. While more guarded celebrities have gone to great lengths to conceal the havoc pregnancy wreaks on their otherwise flawless bodies, Kim is real—and a real wellspring of information.

Privacy advocate Mark Zuckerberg and his wife Priscilla are proud to announce that they are pregnant with Earth’s newest mega-heiress.

It’s safe, at this point, to say that presidential candidate and human Kewpie doll Donald Trump is not a fan of Mexico or its people. But surely he has some begrudging respect—or even admiration—for women with functioning breasts? It might surprise you to learn—or maybe it won’t—but he’s not a fan of those either.

A California woman recently rescued from a remote forest with her newborn child described her incredible three-day ordeal to reporters this week, claiming she gave birth, fought off insects and started a brush fire before help finally arrived.

At last: proof that the familiar impulse you feel upon hearing Rage Against the Machine—to strip naked, wrap yourself in an American flag, shatter the nearest window, roll around until the shards cover your tender flesh, wrap your body around a stranger, set yourselves a flame, then hurtle off a trampoline like a star-spangled porcupine bomb toward the nearest instrument of oppression—is an innate response, like sucking down air or recoiling when your hand touches a flame.

The mechanics of dressing a dead newborn are basic. The little girl’s face is white, lacking the flushed cheeks normally present in a newborn. She has a full head of hair and a button-type nose that makes you want to give her Eskimo kisses. Someone, probably a nurse, has put her in a onesie with yellow tulips embroidered along its Peter Pan collar. Livor mortis, but not rigor mortis had set in; the baby’s fingers are pliant and cold when I hook my finger into hers.