What sort of Hallmark card do you buy this guy:
I’m not settling for one of those half-assed Father’s Days my dad always had, when he got socks and a card and ended up washing the dishes anyway. I’m not playing that shit. In fact, I submitted this itinerary to Mrs. Drew and have instructed her to follow it to a tee.
7:00AM – Baby cries. Someone who is not me tends to it.
9:00AM – Mrs. Drew wakes me up while wearing the uniform of a service industry employee of my choosing. I’m thinking a 1920’s speakeasy cigarette girl. It’s eccentric, yet boneriffic….
4:45PM – Limo back to airport. Private Concorde to New York City. Turn on satellite television to watch the World Cup. Find out soccer has been preempted by highlights of the Vikings 31-17 playoff win at Lambeau Field two years ago, the one where Randy Moss pretends to take a shit on the field. Except, in this version, Moss really does take a shit on the field, and then Joe Buck dies on the air in a hail of gunfire.
6:00PM – Land in Manhattan. Limo ride to Hudson Hotel. Get fitted for a suit by the very finest Italian tailor while in the car. Inhale entire nitrous oxide tank.
6:30PM – Arrive at Hudson Hotel Bar. Bouncer looks at guest list. I am the only name on the list. Enter the bar and instruct bouncer to bring me headshots of people who would like to get in for my approval.
6:49PM – Approve of no one. Get fucking drunk.
My ideal Father’s Day would look somewhat different, I mean, 9 AM? I’m of a crack-of-noon kind of guy, and the only outfit is a Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders one, complete with the white boots, but I have to respect the Italian suits as well as the murderous thoughts about Joe Buck. I’m only surprised that Mr. Father’s Day left Matt Millen out of it, although when I think about it, watching Millen suffer through the disaster that he has made out of the Detroit Lions is actually a more satisfactory fate for the evil Vikings-hating bigot than an on-air death by gunfire.
Every year, twice a year. How you like those Vikes now, Matt?
The sad thing, of course, is that even in a Vikings’ fan’s fantasy, one simply can’t picture them winning the Super Bowl.