I hate that “What’s a bearsquatch” kid so much. You want something to be afraid of, you ginger pussy? You’re going to go to school for 16 years only to find out that your degree qualifies you to be a cubicle drone with, at best, middle-manager potential for some service-industry job that will eventually be done by some dude in Nepal who barely speaks English but who is willing to do your job for $160 a month, because that’s the fat end of the hog in Kathmandu, motherfucker, and don’t you forget it. You? Oh, you’ll find something else, but you’ll be in your late 40’s by then, and whatever you do find will have as much career future in it as an assistant UConn football coach after Randy Edsall gets sent to a farm upstate to play with the other coaches. Meanwhile your shrew of a wife, the same woman who gave birth to and subsequently coddled a child to the point that he’s now pants-shittingly terrified of a clearly mythological creature that is half-bear, half-a-thing-that-has-never-existed, won’t stop spending money on absolutely useless garbage as though you were still employed at a job that paid a living wage, so you wind up taking a graveyard shift at the local Gas-N-Go, where you spend all 8 hours propping your eyeballs up with toothpicks and praying to God that no one you know comes in and recognizes you. That’s something to be afraid of. Now shut up and give Daddy some peace and quiet so that he can drive to his mother-in-law’s house and be passive-aggressively cut to the depths of what he laughingly calls the remainder of his soul about the standard of living he’s failed to provide for the shrieking harpy you call ‘Mom’.

/commercial cuts to the car hurtling through a fence and over a cliff. We pan to a close-up interior shot, Mom screaming at Dad, who has the apotheosis of a peaceful smile on his face.

-fin-