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Archive for the tag “my dad can beat up your dad”


Shhh! Stop making so much noise, you kids! You’ll wake up your father…Well, he’s still in bed because today’s Father’s Day and he gets to sleep in. Yeah, I know, that’s pretty funny. Go ahead and fight with your brother over who gets the “good” chair SO LOUDLY that Dad can’t even pretend it didn’t wake him up.

Poor Dads. We’re a put-upon species. We get to run the hot grill in the steamy summer months and clean the stinky litter box year round. And for what? Well, getting to eat and not having smelly felines, but other than that…not much.

But do we complain? Hell no! We let it fester and work out our aggressions in other ways. After all, that’s what basketball leagues for middle-aged dudes are for.

One good way to release stress is to purge ourselves of our guilt. To whit:

I’m sorry the burgers I grilled last week were burned. On the upside, you totally had no clue one of them was that baseball that stupid kid two doors down keeps hitting into our yard.

I’m sorry that the color “Cheeto-dust” is not acceptable for business attire.

I’m sorry Gene Wilder hasn’t made a movie in a long time. (Has nothing really to do with being a dad, just bummed about it.)

I’m sorry that the things I like to do on Father’s Day – take a nap, eat something off the grill, drink to excess, eat pie, take another nap – are pretty much just the same things I like to do other days.

I’m sorry I felt compelled to prove the old schoolyard threat, “My Dad can beat up your dad.” Twice. In my dad’s defense, your dad is a pretty big wuss.

I’m sorry this year’s Father’s Day gathering was rained out…by Grampa peeing off the second-floor balcony.

I’m sorry Pop-Tarts are not considered their own food group with a more prominent place on the Food Pyramid.

I’m sorry the USDA replaced the Food Pyramid with that other chart-thingy they use now.

I also sorry the pre-Internet days are gone, back when Slim Goodbody and Schoolhouse Rock were all the “educational programming” kids needed.

I’m sorry your father was such a crushing disappointment. But that’s no reason to not answer the door. I know you’re in there!

I’m sorry garbage still has to be taken out on Father’s Day and, apparently, NO ONE ELSE is going to do it.

I’m sorry Father’s Day brunch didn’t go the way you hoped. On the upside, I did get that Hooters’ waitress’s phone number.



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