Oh, shit, he's pissed. I'm fucked. Again.
My, how time flies when you fail to show up for your father's birthday.
Given last year's non-appearance, that's twice in a row for me.
Three strikes, and uh...I'm...what? Disowned? Disinherited? Disemboweled?
Dad : "I CAST YOU OUT!!!!!!"
Me : "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-----!!!!!"
It's not like I'm missing his birthday on purpose. Neither is it due to daddy issues, the existence of which I won't be disingenuous enough to deny. It's just that the Hulk bulk of my work very inconveniently barrels right through my co-creator's natal day : an unstoppable force that has managed to get the best of the immovable object that is my dad's birthday for two years running now.
"Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherfucking bills for this motherfucking car!!!"
This year, though, I don't have Bangkok to blame, although it was close; I'd just planed in the night before, in the Nick Fury of time to actually be in town to text my old man a happy birthday first thing the next morning. I dutifully did so, and he responded by nagging me whether I'd already made a decision as to which casa was going to have its turn bleeding me dry because my bitch of a car is throwing a Claudine Barreto-esque tantrum once again.
I should've known it would be the start of what would turn out to be a horrifically stressful day.
YES I HAVE BREATHTAKING ANGER MANAGEMENT ISSUES YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT?!??!"
While picking out which wall to smash my fist against in the middle of said horrifically stressful day, I received a text from my brother asking what time I'd be home from work, deftly segueing into a reminder that it was Dad's birthday, lest I had forgotten. My
Too bad for li'l bro, our sister
"Thank you for your cooperation."
(Strangely enough, I had just inspected La-Z-Boy prices at Blim's the week before - oh, just in the neighborhood of P100,000 ++, in case you were interested - remembering that Dad had made noises about wanting one while at the same time completely forgetting that his birthday was coming up. Strange how the addled mind works, there.)
"Brother - SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Anyway, I fired off a curt text to mi hermano basically telling him to cease-and-desist-the-fucking-cows-are-gonna-be-home-eons-before-I-would-be-and-by-the-way-goddammit-Loki-where-is-the-fucking-Tesseract?!?!?! His meek "Ok" signaled that my point had gotten through like an Asgardian staff through a certain S.H.I.E.L.D. agent's chest (oooh, spoiler, my bad).
"Oh, sure. I'M the villain here!"
I thought that was the end of that but of course, like any Marvel blockbuster event, there is always a bonus at the end of the interminable credits. At the end of my interminable SAW:XXMCCLVII movie of a day, the scene that played out for me was not one of a gaggle of bored superheroes eating shawarma, but rather a notice that thanks to my absence tonight, I am once again Odin's prodigal son. And a litany of my liege's displeasures were hammered home courtesy of my sadistic sister ( feeling like Amara the Enchantress, no doubt, or Eris, always looking forward to discord ) : I don't appreciate what he does for me (I do, Dad, but that garage extension was hideous and I had no choice but to tear it down like that hick town in Thor). He's spent a fortune coming to my house in the service of servicing my cars (then why oh why am I always presented with the bills?). I don't listen to what he says ( I do, I just reserve the right as an upright adult to make my own decisions).
And so on.
"Boy, let me tell you about MY daddy issues!"
I suppose it was some sort of advance
In fact, Dad ceases to be God.
His clay feet have been laid too bare, and, like Zeus in the wretched excuse for a movie that was Wrath of The
"Have you ever had someone take you out of yourself and then have them stuff something else in?"
No, I didn't think so. Thanks, I'm gonna resume falling now.
I love my father dearly even though yes, he drives me battier than Bruce "Parental Issues" Wayne. And yes, I should prioritize family over work and I should know the more important things in life and I should make time for my loved ones and by the way, thanks for your mental lecture you nodding self-righteous weasels and by the way, fuck you. Fuck you very very much.
"Fine! I never said I was Captain America!"
"Does this fucking throne come in gold? My father, Odin, ruler of all Asgard doth demand it."
How much was that fucking La-Z-Boy again?