"working on my faults and cracks..."


Thank You! Daddy.

"Thank you daddy"!? What the shit? This sissy display was fine for Mother's Day, but condensing the once-per-year sacred celebration of smoking tires, flannel, beer, flatulence, horsepower, Springsteen, facial hair, and flaming cuts of bloody meat into a scented bathrobe-wearing metrosexual, is a travesty, a sham, and a mockery.

Thank you Japan. Your gift to men of the world: another traveshamockery.

Before raging out the last paragraph, all I wanted to say was that as a kid, whenever something got broken, before going to bed, my brothers or I would leave it on the kitchen table for dad to fix before he went to bed (at an undoubtedly more 'grown-up' hour). The next morning, as if by miracle, action figure appendages would be sutured, batteries would be replaced, computer games installed, and stickers would be professionally affixed.

Those were the days.

If I'm ever privileged enough to become a father someday, I'll make sure we have a nice, wide kitchen table.

Sorry about the rant. But Happy Father's Day dad. Even in Japan.
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