My Three Very Boring Sons

It's my blubday, and I've decided to give myself the most precious gift of all: writing another goddamn blog post. Yippee.

"Take it all in, ladies."

Since the world needs laughter, I went to visit Mom at Wind Crest.

"You're not blogging about me, are you?" Mom said when I walked in.

"Er... Oh, look! Robot doggie! How is Freckles??"

"He just peed on the rug."

"Mom, I think that was you." I rolled up a newspaper and hit Mom over the snout with it. "When did you get a snout?"

Freckles whimpered. I went over and gave him a hard beating. "No! Bad! Bad robot! Sara Conner does not live here! And don't make me live in your simulation!"

"Are you having a stroke?" Mom said, rubbing at her tender snout.

"Probably. Let's go eat."

"Wait. Let me give you a trim. Just a little trim. It will just take a few minutes. You're getting shaggy. I can trim you up in just a few minutes."

"The expediency of the trim is not really the issue, Mom. Besides, I'm going for a Leif Garrett look. With pigtails. Come on. Let's get some soft food."

We got a table at the elegant bistro of Wind Crest, surrounded by those reminiscing about the big bang (the good kind, not the show). The server came over.

"I'll have an iced tea and water," Mom said. "And he'll just have water. Yes, I am ashamed of my son."

"Very good, madam."

"Oh, don't do that," Mom said. "You look like Trump. Stop that."

I had been sitting with my arms crossed, not realizing I was become history's greatest monster.

Mark joined us, somewhat confused and wondering why it's taken this long to show up in my blog.

"I'm just going to have water," he said.

"Oh, no," Mom said.

"What?"

"Don't you want a beer?"

"They have beer here? Ice cold beer here?"

"Yes. Have a beer. Come on. Be fun. Don't be a bore like Greg."

"I really don't..."

"Waiter? Yes, my son has decided he wants a beer. He's one of my three sons. We're finally going to have some fun around here!"

I started to talk about having attended a brutal concert, with Todd triple-masking it to the max. He had sneered at some fellows in leather jackets who were enjoying a beer (Mom nodded), PBR to be exact, and he made the point that here you were at a concert, being counter-cultural, and then you spoil it all by drinking something so not counter-culture. Mom was confused by the story. Wasn't the beer a sign of radical enjoyment and thus part of the coming revolution?

"Not PBR, Mom. It's for trash. And trash people."

"Do you want some of my steak? Do you want some of my potatoes?"

"No, Mom."

"Just have a bite. I can't eat all of this. Have some of my water. Here." Pours water into my glass. "And have a bite of my steak. I can't eat all of this."

"Sigh."

"Can someone please eat some of my food? Please? Greg, do you need more water?"

Feeling that I was losing my audience, I brought up Pat. Pat had told me he used to point a laser at the private detective hired by his father to sit outside his house in his car. Finally, he annoyed the guy so much that the man was forced to drive away. Now, let's gather together and understand this as best we can: Pat, alone in his house, parts the curtains, notices a suspicious character out in the street, does what any normal person would do and points a laser on said person, pointing and pointing until the stranger drives away. The story thus proved that Pat was a hero, overcoming his father's evil machinations with the power of laser. But, come on. Not ALL fathers are bad, like Pat's, or Todd's, or ours ha ha.

"Goddamnit who peed on the rug over here? 

CHIP!?!? GODDAMN YOU"

Speaking of erotic pipe-smokers, Dad has been awarded an honorary degree in humanities at CU, apparently after the regents had read sentences like, "The haunting music of the six-holed Anasazi flute put them all in touch with themselves" and "Seeing her tight-waisted figure prodded the boning experience in him." Or wait, how about: "Lorcan wanted to get involved with cannabis. He wished he had a girl to pound. If only THE MAN would let him..."

Hey, where did everyone go?

With a shrug, I took up Mark's beer. It wasn't that bad. A bit too hoppy. Finally, on my blubday I have started to enjoy the smoky smoothness of alcohol!

Now, to return to pointing a laser at that guy who keeps coming around with packages...