This Sunday is Father's Day, a day that keeps the folks who make bathrobes and mustache trimmers busy. A holiday where we reflect on that hairy dude who put their P in our mother's V to make us, and hopefully stuck around long enough for us to borrow the car keys or the money to put down on a house of our own.
Remember on Sunday to call your pops and let him (or if he had a really cool mid-life crisis, her) know how much you love and hold him dear. And if you don't love your father, light a bag of dog poop on the doorstep of his house and run like hell, because he probably can't run so fast when the deadbeat is hungover or stoned. Then go home and watch Empire Strikes Back a few times.
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