The FKS Guide to a Semi-Badass Father’s Day
Mrs. Drew deemed my original plan for Father’s Day to be completely unrealistic, especially the part where we have sex more than once. Fair enough. Maybe I was asking for too much. But my Father’s Day ended up being uncommonly shitty, for three reasons:
1. I had a dream the night before where a bat landed on my shoulder. It was one of those dreams where my mouth wouldn’t open, so I’m trying to tell everyone in the dream, “Hey, there’s a fucking bat on me!” but all I can muster is “Mmmph! Mmmph!” Thus, here’s how I woke up Father’s Day morning:
“Mmmph! Mmmph!”
“Drew, what’s wrong?!!”
“Mmmph! Mmmph!... BAT!”
There’s nothing quite like waking up to discover that you are both a moron and a total pussy. Thanks for that Father’s Day gift, God. Everyone says God is Love. Bullshit. God is the biggest hater of them all.
2. I realized I forgot to pay my quarterly taxes, which is like remembering date rape.
3. I had to work. And not only did I have to work, I also got to the office to discover the air conditioning was broken. It was 95 degrees out yesterday. No amount of Triple Action Gold Powder in the world was going to stop my grundle from smelling like oatmeal cookies and hot garbage at the end of the day. My assignment for work was to write ads for a local health club. Here’s the ad I wrote:
“ Go to Joe’s Health Club, because they have fucking air conditioning. Holy fuck, is that ass sweat in my pants or is it diarrhea?”
Good ad. Catchy.
Things improved at day’s end. I went home, showered, ate all the sausage I wanted, and got to play with the Girl. Solid evening all around. In fact, here are some basic rules for you ladies to make sure your man has a realistically decent Father’s Day next time around:
-Sex
Goes without saying.
-Let Him Grill
Grilling is the greatest coup ever invented. Mrs. Drew always thanks me for grilling dinner, as if it’s some kind of chore. Hardly. Here’s what grilling entails: standing around, drinking beer, and watching fire burn shit. When I was 11, I would have given anything to do this all day. And now, here I am, living the fantasy. Plus, you don’t have to wash a pot. All you have to do is scrape the grill with a wire brush. I don’t know why the standards for cleanliness are so much lower for a grill. There’s chicken fat in there that pre-dates my first wet dream. But I’m not quibbling.
-Acceptable Gifts
1. Grill tools
2. Golf equipment
3. Alcohol
That’s it. That’s the list. If you get him something that is not on this list, that something had better be Laetitia Casta in thigh-highs.
-No Discussion Of Annoying Shit
Getting new shutters. Writing thank-you notes to people who refuse to write you’re-welcome notes back. Researching preschools. The only thing worse than doing this shit is having to talk about doing it. So lay off for a day. Here are some acceptable conversation topics: football, spanking, Metallica, and people you saw trip and fall the other day.
-Let Him Turn Up The Volume On The TV Set
For once, I’d like to actually hear what the little people inside the TV are saying. Call me crazy.
-Offer Beer
But you knew that already. And bring me some chips and salsa while you’re at it, okay? Thanks, Toots.
1. I had a dream the night before where a bat landed on my shoulder. It was one of those dreams where my mouth wouldn’t open, so I’m trying to tell everyone in the dream, “Hey, there’s a fucking bat on me!” but all I can muster is “Mmmph! Mmmph!” Thus, here’s how I woke up Father’s Day morning:
“Mmmph! Mmmph!”
“Drew, what’s wrong?!!”
“Mmmph! Mmmph!... BAT!”
There’s nothing quite like waking up to discover that you are both a moron and a total pussy. Thanks for that Father’s Day gift, God. Everyone says God is Love. Bullshit. God is the biggest hater of them all.
2. I realized I forgot to pay my quarterly taxes, which is like remembering date rape.
3. I had to work. And not only did I have to work, I also got to the office to discover the air conditioning was broken. It was 95 degrees out yesterday. No amount of Triple Action Gold Powder in the world was going to stop my grundle from smelling like oatmeal cookies and hot garbage at the end of the day. My assignment for work was to write ads for a local health club. Here’s the ad I wrote:
“ Go to Joe’s Health Club, because they have fucking air conditioning. Holy fuck, is that ass sweat in my pants or is it diarrhea?”
Good ad. Catchy.
Things improved at day’s end. I went home, showered, ate all the sausage I wanted, and got to play with the Girl. Solid evening all around. In fact, here are some basic rules for you ladies to make sure your man has a realistically decent Father’s Day next time around:
-Sex
Goes without saying.
-Let Him Grill
Grilling is the greatest coup ever invented. Mrs. Drew always thanks me for grilling dinner, as if it’s some kind of chore. Hardly. Here’s what grilling entails: standing around, drinking beer, and watching fire burn shit. When I was 11, I would have given anything to do this all day. And now, here I am, living the fantasy. Plus, you don’t have to wash a pot. All you have to do is scrape the grill with a wire brush. I don’t know why the standards for cleanliness are so much lower for a grill. There’s chicken fat in there that pre-dates my first wet dream. But I’m not quibbling.
-Acceptable Gifts
1. Grill tools
2. Golf equipment
3. Alcohol
That’s it. That’s the list. If you get him something that is not on this list, that something had better be Laetitia Casta in thigh-highs.
-No Discussion Of Annoying Shit
Getting new shutters. Writing thank-you notes to people who refuse to write you’re-welcome notes back. Researching preschools. The only thing worse than doing this shit is having to talk about doing it. So lay off for a day. Here are some acceptable conversation topics: football, spanking, Metallica, and people you saw trip and fall the other day.
-Let Him Turn Up The Volume On The TV Set
For once, I’d like to actually hear what the little people inside the TV are saying. Call me crazy.
-Offer Beer
But you knew that already. And bring me some chips and salsa while you’re at it, okay? Thanks, Toots.
posted by Big Daddy Drew at 9:51 AM
6 Comments:
Well, I'm not a dad, and have no intention of being a dad. But I know enough about dad's to have followed your basic rules:
1) My dad grilled steaks yesterday. He did so with a beer in his hand.
2) I gave my dad a bottle of Jack Daniel's Single Malt. He smiled. I asked if he needed a glass. He said he only needed the bottle. (he was kidding, but the sentiment was great!)
3) Didn't give him any shit. Didn't even point out the kernels of corn that somehow made it up to the top of his forehead during dinner. I then pointed out the kernels that made it onto my mom's shirt...So that's like two gifts, right!
Call me crazy, but I like to delay prison rape as much as possible.
But then, I've always been a horrible procrastinator.
Hey, you've made a favourite Daddy Blogger links list.
How about those OIlers?
Dude, you don't really want people to write you're welcome notes back, because then you would have to write another thank you note thanking them for their welcome note, and then they would send a note saying your welcome to your second note, and you would be trapped on a sinister merry-go-round built and maintained by some greedy stationery company. Trust me, you're welcome notes suck. I've spent a lot of time thinking about this.
Loved the post, Drew. You really managed to describe the odor of your sackfullagoodies with that oatmeal cookies and hot trash description. We all know that smell.
Priceless.
Would this be an acceptable father's day present?
http://www.iballer.com/divas/casta/images/c22_jpg.jpg
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