When I say peacock, nobody bats an eye. But when I say, “Poopcock!”… Everyone loses their minds!
My father liked music. He would play “skiddly-dum!” on the fiddle, and earned a pretty penny in the subway. One day, he realized… he was too big for this business. Too big for my sniveling mother and her overdrafted Bed Bat and Beyond gift cards. We ran out of milk, and he didn’t like that. Not one bit.
To ensure that he was rotting soundly in a ditch somewhere, and not skipping out on Take Your Bastard Son to The Unemployment Center Day, I sought out the world’s premier detective: my adolescent self. And then Batman had to come along… and take it from me! But that’s a story for when I’m feeling a little more… whimsical!
From checking underneath sidewalk litter, to peering into suspicious windows, I investigated real hard. Sure, they made new neighborhood watches to “keep an eye” on me and I’m now “on a List,” but what else is an honest guy to do for a good day’s work? I always knew that Barbara Gordon was a snitch.
But Daddy never showed. I solicited the help of society’s finest minds: the people behind the milk carton kids. How else, other than from the Clintons, are benevolent gentlemen supposed to know when the kiddos are up for grabs? I’m no smartypants, but I know a business opportunity when I see it. My illegal commerce won’t run itself!
My mother was packing… me a lunch! It was a PB&J, both delicious and nutritious. Little does she know… I’m allergic to nut. It’s not about the taste, it’s the swallowing. She thinks she knows me so well… but again, so did Daddy. And look where he is now!
Ma, I did it. Your nut didn’t kill me. It made me stranger!
