My dad just forwarded me
a color coded,
24pt, Arial fonted,
Republican chain email.
This is upsetting to me because
we had a really nice Christmas together so,
I’m like, “Yo, why do you want to ruin my last memory of you of 2010 with some fucking bunk ass mustard yellow bold links about illegal aliens & welfare? Like, don’t get me wrong, I do not fucking care about anything government related because I am young & apathetic, but if I’m put in a position to give an opinion, it’s not going to be the same as Arizona’s. Get real, Dad.
And if you can’t get real about social programs,
please, please get real about chain emails.”
That is what I would say if I was to call him up,
but I am not going to do that because
I know exactly what will happen.
He will start singing Cat Stevens*.
Yeah, anything I say to my father results in him singing the chorus of “Cat’s In The Cradle”. This is sometimes incredibly touching and makes me really sad, like when I tell my dad I don’t have time to hang out with him because I have four jobs & a lot of weed to smoke. I’m like, aw, man, dude, don’t sing that. Imma cry. I’m sorry I’m old now & we can’t go fishing this weekend. I wish I could. I really do. This sucks. I miss you, I love you, but you’ve got to stop singing this song before you dash the delusions my entire emotional stability is built upon.
But sometimes it’s like,
“Dad, that does not make fucking sense.”
* I realize he didn’t write this song but I like his version so whatever.
This is my blog. Go be like, historically correct on your own time.
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