[Ed. Note: I’m proud of this re-run brrRAAAAP /designated driver peels off]

I can’t believe it’s been 7 hours since my first drink and you haven’t even TEXTED to wish me a Happy Father’s Day. The barkeep wouldn’t let me get a word in because he kept droning about his ingrate kids, so I returned home

[Gulps from plastic jug of hard liquor]

and I’m gonna take this directly  to ya before I’m even more incapacitated.

K?

You got at least 15 more years to bitch, unquestioned, about your father being a piece of shit. So here’s my side.

[Gulps from jug]

There’s no book or manual for bringing up children. None. Nowhere! So I did the best I could. And I don’t care what the Family Services file says: I didn’t hit you. Only assholes snitch, in interviews, about how much I admired Adrian Peterson.

How many times did I tell you to follow your dreams? Well, that comes from experience. You need to foster and achieve goals. I mean, shit. Every Disney movie I sat through with you was about that. Well, how about my goals? Mine were screwing a big chunk of folks in this jurisdiction. And yet, your mother and our fertility happened.

Chew on that awhile, now that you are “mature”. Pft.

No, that’s my bad. To be fair, it ain’t your fault. But Christ, don’t expect me to bend over backwards just because it’s an unjust world and you had no part in being born.

[Gulps from jug]

What about the good things? I’ve always told you to be yourselves. Always. Even when I knew that your birth could cramp my style, I didn’t expect you to snitch to your mother.

Via giphy.com

How could you do me like that? I’ve always been supportive. And, and! I’ve always told you to be proud of who you are. Especially about the huge discoloration in your cheek. Very few people can say that they tried to learn how to ride a motorcycle at 9 years old. Besides, it was YOU who got drunk that day. All I did was call you a pussy, in front of your uncles, for making weak Cuba Libres.

And that goes to the rest of ya too! You’ve ALL been uptight kids, not just Carmen.

But I guess being a provider and grinding for a living is just a big barrel of nothing. A roof for you? Nothing. Food and education, nothing! Therapy after a yelling bout with your mom over an allegedly used condom in the car—yeah, I still remember that. Do you? It was alternative medicine for me dammit, not gaslighting. But yeah, believe your mom and three shrinks. WHICH I PAID FOR!1!1!

[Gulps from jug]

Anyway, don’t love me. My conscience is clear because I spent on ya most of the money I made. The rest is mine. Not even your mom’s lawyer could dip into my “Debasing” budget.

But know that I do love you. In a “Get wistful while drunk” kinda way about a quarter of the time I get hammered, but still! Self-pity is not just for teens, you know.

Nevertheless, I will always respect you and change your names and gender when looking for human contact while drinking alone in a bar during a holiday. And I promise you that, forever and ever, I will say you‘re the light of my life whenever I see a mercy fuck on the horizon.

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