Ughhhhhhh. Happy “Father’s” Day, Richard. There. I said it. Make sure you tell Mom.
“Father” was in quotes because, as I’ve been telling you for the past five years you’ve been married to my mother, you AREN’T my father. I already HAVE a father and he’s cooler than YOU and any day now he’s COMING BACK FOR ME.
But whatever. According to Mom this is your day, too. She asked what I got you, knowing full well the answer was nothing. “How bout you MAKE him something?!” she asked. Well, Richard, I did make you something. It’s in the guest room toilet. It’s not what you asked for but be happy I didn’t wrap it with your sheets.
Then Mom was all, “Well, it would mean a lot to me if you would at least write him a card.” Lucky for you, I feel bad that my cool dad walked out on her and she had to marry a lame-o so I offered a compromise. I said I’d write you an article. This way I can save the $2.50 plus I don’t have to look at you. So here it is, Dick. Enjoy your custom Funny Or Die article ’cause it’s the last time I’ll act like I’m a member of your family until Christmas. (Seriously I HATE when we visit your side of the family, they’re a bunch of fucking weirdos. They all own Zunes.)
Right now you’re probably comparing the value of this article to the Omaha Steaks you got from Ryan. But here’s what you’re forgetting — Ryan is your real child. I, on the other hand, am just a 16-year-old kid who lives with you because you married his mom. Besides, this article is actually better because I already ate all those steaks. (Needed something to make that toilet gift I mentioned earlier.) Ryan is only half a brother and, if we’re being honest, half a man. Seriously — how you raised such a fuckboi, I’ll never know. Please don’t tell Mom I swore.
Moving on, I resent every time you’ve tried to bond with me over the past five years. No, Dick, I don’t wanna play “stickball” and also no one even calls it that. UGH. And, full disclosure, when you sat me down two summers ago to discuss masturbating into the dishtowels, I actually started doing it MORE. Think about THAT next time you’re cleaning up after dinner.
Here are a list of things I’m not fucking getting you for Father’ Day:
1. Cologne. Sandalwood doesn’t cover the smell of pussy so I’m not wasting my money.
2. A New Tie. (Noose, maybe. But tie, no.)
3. Respect. This would have been free but you’re still not getting it.
4. Omaha Steaks. I was considering it then remembered Ryan already got you those, plus I hate you.
4. Golf Balls. You’ve gone THIS far without balls, you can make it another year.
5. A Hug. Don’t touch me.
6. One of those mugs that says “Don’t Talk To Me Till I’ve Had My Coffee” because I don’t even want to talk to you after you’ve had your coffee.
7. An “I’m a Big Stupid Needledick” t-shirt but only because I don’t know your size.
8. Buncha gift certificates to get your car washed because I rolled that thing off a cliff last night.
9. Engraved power tools. Trust that I’ve already got a chainsaw with your name on it.
10. Slippers. I just don’t want your feet to be comfortable. Plain and simple.
So here’s the article. I’ve fulfilled my stepson duties. Please make sure to tell my Mom that I did this so she’ll get off my back. In closing, I hate you and I can’t wait for my REAL dad to come back so we can get back to being a family.
Love (just kidding),