Let me tell you about fatherhood, man. I can tell you about fatherhood, man, because I'm the best there is, man. Try tellin' anybody you a better dad than me. Nobody gonna believe you man, because I reinvented that wheel with my boy, Man.
Fuck me, man. A wiser man than I once said all men are created equal. I can tell you that's a lie, man, cuz I done raised my boy, man. Kid was born limp, man. Not dead, but weak - weaker than Papa John Phillips' willpower at a cheer leading and pharmaceutical convention. There he was, all come out of the womb, man, all wet and crying, and I was all like "Cut your own cord, man!", trying to make him a self-made man like me, man. You know what that flopping sack of tepid amniotic fluid did, man? It formed a shitty '90s alt-rock band, man.
It. Yes, I referred to It as "It" for the first seven years of It's life, man. You would too, man, if you had to deal with something as sniveling as it was, man. The best part of the kid went out in the trash with it's runny placenta, man.
The old lady didn't appreciate the term, man, but you can't tell the Badger what to maul, man. She stuck around cuz she was married to me, man, and that made her powerful. Because I'm the balls, man, and my balls work. So the boy didn't have a name. Not like that makes me the worst parent ever, man. I never lied to him. I was open about my contempt. Didn't Hitler have kids? No? Well, if he did, man, I guarantee you he woulda been worse.
It wasn't until the kid fell off the swing set that I was forced to acknowledge that it had a name, man. Emergency room don't recognize my power and influence. Learned that the hard way back in the '60s, man. You cut your hands attempting to garrote Wavy Gravy with a guitar string, paramedic's don't care if you demand they address you as Mr. "the Balls", man. That's the cold rule of life, man. Paramedic can call you whatever the fuck he wants, man, cuz he holds your life in his hands. I went by "Listen Asshole" for 45 minutes that day, man. 'Course I had them all fired afterwards, man, because I'm a mother fucking tyrant.
So there I was, trying to tell the staff of the E.R. that It had fallen off the swings, man. Nurse with a gigantic, manly chin told me she wouldn't be able to treat anything until she knew what "It" was. When I pointed at the disheveled looking tike sitting in one of my old guitar cases, sobbing and simpering and clutching a cloth to his mangled ankle, she gasped and called me a monster, man. I tried explaining to her about the runny placenta, man, but she didn't seem to grasp what a terrible disappointment he was. Finally I was like, "Listen, Nurse Lockjaw, Man, this is Jake. Jake's so dumb he can't use a swing set right, man. Now he's all gimpy, man. I tried throwing him out, but the wife wouldn't let me, man. Said I gotta take him to you, man. I don't care if you keep him, man, but you gotta fix his shitty foot, man, cuz his howlin's gonna push me too far, man."
Parenting's easy, man. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Kid starts cryin', sing him a song. He don't appreciate it, it ain't your fault he's an ingrate. Kid stubs his toe, you hand him off to the nanny. Kid makes eye contact with you, you have his guppies killed with a hair dryer on MTV, man. It's the circle of life, man. It's a beautiful thing. Especially the part about handing them off to Nannies, then goin' on tour for two and three years at a time, man.
- B. Dyddy.
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