My father has told me that he is “accepting revenue” this Father’s Day. In lieu of revenue, I hope this will do instead, because I’m poor and need all my money to go on vacation. I believe he will understand this as he is the one who bequeathed me my itchy feet.
All the words in this blog post (beyond this initial paragraph) are things my father has said – out loud, either from memory, written down, texted, or otherwise electronically captured. Behold. The words of my father await you.
“Don’t forget to publicize this far and wide so I can quit work and be rich.”
I don’t care about the Phantom of the Opera. I care about the jazz bar.
I’m gonna get my twelve dollars worth.
Dad : your mother and I are trendsetters
Me : what trend are you setting?
Dad : combining old age with parasitic couch surfing
Dad : How did the son of Lucifer get in this vehicle?
Me : Dad, that’s a cat.
Christmas trees are the kingpins of ambience.
I want to come for dinner and visit with all you socialists.
She told me I was stupid and that I smelled like fish.
Your mother is a premium broad.
I know what will fix this. Broccoli, water, and exercise.
Dad: you should live long and be…prosperous
Me : dad, do you want me to live long and prosper?
Dad : yeah! Live long and prosper!
Martin : she just made you quote star trek.
Dad : is that a star trek quote? I thought they said you were supposed to go where nobody ever went.
I don’t have the time to deal with ignorant post graduate high school markers.
Me : Dad, why are you watching Justin Bieber on youtube?
Dad : just because I can.
I know that. I know that. You can’t tell me nothing I don’t already know. I think like a Darwinian.
This is an estrogen tsunami and I’m going to go hide in my room.
Big Jim says hi. And pray for Stephen because it says in the bible to do that.
Rise up and bless the Law Society tomorrow. And don’t fart at work.
Me : Why are you driving so slow
Dad : I’m preserving the integrity of the silver auto
Who’s this long-hair coming up the driveway? Is he selling you drugs?
My favourite euphemism for a delivered sermon is chong.
I’m a jesuit, and jesuits mow their lawns.
I ain’t going on that. You have to wear a helmet.
I wanna be the rhythm guitar player in Celine Dion’s band. Or a tow truck driver on the coquihalla.
I look like George Clooney.
I’m the closest guy to Jesus in this room.
I would say there are no answers, but somebody would hotly contest that point too, so I won’t say it. Better to listen and nod.
Our own church is a grab bag of everything under the sun, just like the rest of life. Only an idiot—or masochist—would even attempt to sort all that out.
I think, would I want to wade into all this controversial stuff and get my ass shot off when I could be sipping a cool one at Earl’s? Is that a bad attitude?
Is not gospel for the populace? It is. Did not Jesus our Lord come to the common people? He did. Has not the church always tried to express itself in local idiom? It has. Talking like this makes you feel like Rick Warren.
I get to wondering why he would want to be hated by a zillion Muslims and all the women in the world, but it seems to cheer him up.
Television furthers the moral decline of the soul.
Looking on, I am happy for you. I don’t think you could have found a better situation. That said, I do feel wistful when I think of you in Calgary…. ” sunrise, sunset, swiftly flow the years/ One season following another, laden with happiness and tears…” I wonder if it would be any better or any different if we had it to do over.