I’m going to take you guys on a little trip down memory lane for a bit and tell you some stories about the stuff my parents (that’s right mom, you’re not getting out of this one) did way before I was born and maybe this will further help you understand the people who raised me and why I am the fabulous person I am. I want you to realize I had a really great childhood and my parents are truly great and I love them to death. Now onto the horror.
I actually tell this story a lot because I think it’s one of the greatest things ever. When my Dad was a younger and more mustachioed man he was at a party once (just once, never again) sitting on a couch and a girl was standing infront of him. I do not know why he did what he did and I really doubt he knows either but for some ungodly reason he decided to lean forward and bite this chick on the ass. Yup. My Father: The ass man. As you can guess the girl was pretty shocked and did what any person would do when they suddenly got bit on the tush: She jumped away. In doing so one of my fathers front teeth got stuck in her jean pocket and got completely ripped out. I’m not making this up. He has a fake tooth now and it’s because of his insane lust for booty.
My Mom also did some dumbass shit when she was younger, just recently she told me a story about how she got shitfaced with some friends and swam in this stagnant river run off pond next to my old highschool. She’s a classy broad. After her refreshing dip they all went to a Chinese restaurant and started dancing on a table, dripping wet I might add, all while the horrified restuarant owner stared at her through the window in the kitchen doors. Needless to say she got thrown the fuck out. I’ve been in a Chinese restaurant before and they always seem to play really quiet instrumental music or really quiet Chinese music so I don’t know if they were having a Springsteen night or what but something got the boogie fever into my mother.
This story actually makes me very happy because now both mother and daughter have been thrown out of Chinese Restaurants while being drunk off their asses. Her for dancing and me for putting a crab in a lobster tank and trying to get them to fight. In my defense the tanks shouldn’t have been next to each other and there certainly shouldn’t have been a crab scooping ladle in the tank.
One of the things my dad truly loves doing is lying straight to your face about the most inconsequential things. Recently I asked him how my parents anniversary dinner was and he told me they both got food poisoning for no reason other than to hear me freak out on the other end of the phone. Probably once a month he tells me that a favorite celebrity crush of mine is either dead or gay. This is just the kind of man he is.
Aside from tormenting us, he also likes to cause trouble for “the man” totally unaware that as a middle aged affluent white man, he himself is “the man” It’s really quite something.
If I had to describe the two things my father likes most I would have to say Neil Young and stirring up shit for strangers. As I explained in my earlier blog, my father really, really loves scaring the shit out of kids even if they aren’t his own. This also extends to yelling at kids who aren’t his own. If you are in the age bracket of 5-19 you are fair game to be the brunt of my dads neverending social rage. If he holds the door open for you, you better fucking say thank you or he will say YOU’RE WELCOME extremely loudly at you. Also if you are a screaming kid at a restaurant, he will just stare at you until you shut up because he’s just that imposing. I have actually witnessed this on several occasions. He will just position himself in a way that he can stare directly into the asshole kids eyes and he just stares. And stares. I’ve seen him shut up a crying kid in under 2 minutes. I don’t know if the parents notice or not, but I’m sure they just don’t give a shit either way because their kid finally shut up and they can get drunk at White Spot in peace.
Another good example of my fathers constant fuckery is this: When my brother and I were growing up we had a big backyard that we were forced to play in until the sun went down. Pretty much every summer vacation was us having to play outside until dark when my Mom would hit a can of tuna with a fork and we would come running from the bushes. We were like filthy feral children all summer and one year we even built a really sweet treehouse next to the river which in retrospect was probably extremely dangerous and stupid.
Anyways after a long hard day of running around screeching and making blood sacrifices we would come home all dirty and we had two options: 1. Get hosed off in the backyard or 2. wash your feet off before you got in the house and then go have a shower. I think my Dad made the decision for us on more than one occasion, and he clearly chose the former because who doesn’t love spraying kids with a hose. Oh and I think it goes without saying that he stuck his thumb in the end of the hose to fully utilize the force of the hose water.
Anyways, when we actually did get go to in the house without a hosebath we had to wash our feet off before hand. My Dad told us the perfect way to wash our feet off. Stick them in the toilet and swish them around. Makes perfect sense right? well when you’re 8 years old and your father tells you to stick your feet in the goddamn toilet you stick your feet in the goddamn toilet because at that point you still truly believe your parents only want the best for you and wouldn’t ever take advantage of your naivety by making you wash your feet off in a fucking toilet. Goddamn it Bob. Oh I should probably mention the toilet was clean at the time. My Dad is a comedian but he’s not evil.
But I think it’s time to take the heat off my Dad for a bit and focus on my other, less insane parent. The story I’m about to tell you is actually still a bit of a sore spot for me. When I was probably 7 I was very artistic or so I thought. I drew and painted all the time and I still paint a bit, mainly portraits of Craig T Nelson which I then mail to him once or twice a month, but anyways I guess I watched some show or read some book about people painting on rocks. They had a sleeping cat painted on one and like “bless this home” on another, you guys know what I’m talking about. So I was all “oh wow! I have rocks AND paint so I could do this!!!” I was pretty frigging excited you guys.
So I set off to make a deer rock but somewhere in the creative process I decided to take it a step further. Why just paint a deer on a rock when you could MAKE a deer out of rocks?? Fuck I was a dumb child. So I went and got a rock for the head and some little pebbles for the ears and then taped it all together to make a deer head. I also took some branches from a bush and made little antlers. This thing was fucking fabulous you guys. I drew a little nose on it and everything. I was about to become rich and famous with my beautiful rock deer. I ran up to my Mom and showed her and she was all “oh that is just gorgeous! Good job Rigs!” I was beaming. So I asked if I could take some glamor shots of my deerhead and my mom gave me her camera. I went out in the backyard and took probably 5 pictures of this thing sitting on the pool diving board.
Fast forward to 13 years later. I was at my parents house going through a bunch of old pictures and I found the pictures of my deer! I was so stoked!
“oh my god mom! Look I found the pictures of that deer I made!!”
I showed her the pictures and she burst out laughing. I was shocked.
I have never wanted to slap my mom in the mouth before but when she told me what she was laughing about I nearly socked her in the chops.
Apparently my Mom thought that deer was the worst thing ever and was just humoring me. I was devastated. I had lived my life since that day with the thought in the back of my head that whatever happened, I could always fall back on a career of sculpting animals out of rocks. I would see people better looking than me or more successful and I would say to myself: “you know what? forget them. You know why? You’re better than that. You can make motherfucking deers out of rocks.”
God, I can picture it now. Me all happy and laughing, taking glamor shots of my new deer friend all the while my mom stands in the kitchen window pointing and laughing. Getting on the phone to describe my deer creation to her friends. What an asshole!
But because my Mom is such a good person, as soon as she was done laughing hysterically at me while I stood there shocked, gave me a hug and said she was sorry and that it wasn’t actually all that bad. I assume on her deathbed she will beckon me to her side, and with tears in my eyes I will clutch her hand as she leans forward and whispers in my ear the last words she will ever speak to me.
“I lied. That deer was fucking horrible.”
Goddamn are my parents assholes.