Dear Clem,
I’m 28 years old and still like to party hard even though I have 4 kids at home. Do you think this is acceptable, or as some of my relatives say, is it time for me to grow up?
Fondly,
Andrea F., Windsor, VA
Dear Andrea,
I hope you had a good time last night. What with your drinking, carousing, and gettin’ shitfaced on a Wednesday. It’s a damn sorry sight to see if I say so myself. What am I talking about? Don’t you sass me, you ain’t too big to get a spankin’, that’s another lick for having a smart mouth. First off how old are you? That’s right, too damn old to be out trying to relive your college glory days. Secondly, doesn’t your ass need to be at work at 9am tomorrow? Oh, you’ll be lookin’ real sporty showing up looking and smelling like death, but I’m sure you’ll probably call in tomorrow and blame it on your “sick” child so no one says anything. But most importantly, you’ve got youngins at home. You know, those things you like to pawn off on me when you’re feeling frisky, like I don’t have a damn thing to do? You know they know how to work this technology better than I do, that’s why we get the Skinemax blaring throughout the neighborhood. And I’m worried about that son of yours being queer, so I let him watch and hope some of it starts to sink in. But who can blame him when his closest example of a woman is off double-fisting brews bringing God knows what home. But yeah, you work 40 hours a week, you deserve to blow off some steam. Tear it up honey.
I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. Those friends of yours talk shit about you as soon as you leave to get a refill. Women can’t be friends, it just doesn’t work that way. Hey, I don’t make up the ways of the universe, I just call ‘em as I see ‘em. Y’all’s relationship consists of pretending to be buddies, until one of the pack slips out for a second, then the lionesses feast on her until she gets back. This just ebbs and flows as each of you leaves the circle.
Also, $25 for all you can eat and drink is not meant to be a challenge. There’s nothing sadder than seeing a mom of four gettin’ off work, dropping her kids in the Grandparents’ lap, and runnin’ off to the damn Bronco Club to get her medicine. It’s Wednesday night, by 7pm you should be in your fat pants, having already fed your kids some processed dinner, ‘cause Lord knows none of you young people know how to cook anymore. You should have also by then helped your kid with his remedial math homework, ‘cause you skipped out during his first grade math year to attend happy hour at the Mexican restaurant every weeknight, ‘cause you know, your job stresses you and you need to unwind. Get your ass home and take care of your kids!
And what’s up with BEEF barbecue? If you made it pork, you’d keep all the Jews away, what are y’all trying to do? Everyone knows pork barbeque is superior to beef barbecue anyway. Amateurs.
Anyway, I’m sick of being your free babysittin’ service. I’m Granddaddy, not Daddy. That means I get to indulge them whenever and however I want, and you can’t do anything about it, ‘cause guess what, I’m your Daddy. That doesn’t mean I want to spend my entire evening watching f—– Dora the Explorer for 3 damn hours just so you can get sauced. And where’s that damn Dora’s parents? That damn monkey could have rabies, and they just let her run around the jungle finding things to count. I guess they don’t have Leapfrogs in Mexico, so the kids have to go out and make their own real-life games, except it won’t be a game anymore when that monkey turns on her. But her family’s probably got 17 kids, so I guess it’s understandable that one will get loose. Hey it happens, her 30 year old mom is probably off drinking nueve Coronas on a Miercoles tambien. This irresponsible pattern doesn’t discriminate; poor parenting is global.
This behavior is bad enough as it is. Back in my day, when I was out acting the fool, which was long before you were born honey, we didn’t go snap a bunch of pictures and share it with the whole damn world to see, and seem proud of it while doing it. It was an unspoken rule what went on stayed private. Instead, your little daughter decides to show me what mommy is up to at the BBQ party through her facebook account.
Y’all need to quit this foolishness and start taking care of your youngins. You couldn’t keep your legs closed, now you got ‘em, you better start owning up to your responsibilities. Keep your ass home. If you can’t stand to be without your medicine, put them to bed a little early and nip on some of the whiskey we all know you got stashed in the closet. You want even better advice? Teach your oldest youngin to drive a vehicle in case of emergency. You know that song about when Daddy let me drive? Sure it sounds sweet, but the reality of it is, is that Alan Jackson’s daddy was a responsible alcoholic. He knew their best chance of getting home safe was entrusting that steering wheel to his seven year old son. So he’d be out getting blitzed on the water all day, and he knew he could, cause little Alan could drive a truck pulling a 20 foot boat like a champ. You should have seen him back that trailer. They’re like little illegal DDs. And I don’t want to hear it from you liberal assholes. Any 7-year-old can drive better than Danica, and they give her a 200mph death machine, so stuff it! So how ‘bout all of you start being more responsible and drink at home, like your parents did? I hope to not see you at next year’s Barbeque.