Dad’s Off the Chain

MONDAY

Noon: Wifey leaves for the airport. First business trip since March 2020. The pandemic’s over libs — deal with it! I’m fuckin’ hyped, son. Tomorrow I’ll have the entire house to myself for the first time in two years. Shit’s gonna be mad fuckin’ crazy yo!

Put my two-and-a-half-year-old son down for his nap. First delicious taste of freedom. Thirty minutes of internet research. Fuck I’m tired. Fifty-minute nap. Wake, read The Economist on my phone for an hour. Son wakes up. A snack? Fuck it, break out the Veggie Straws! Let’s get wild, B!

3:49PM: Pick up my six-year-old daughter. If you want to watch Star Wars: Rebelsthen get in the goddamned bathtub right now. Bath. Read a book to your brother while I take a shower. What’s for dinner? Frozen Costco pizza, Muthafuckaz! Brush your teeth so we can watch another episode.

7:01PM: You wanna read a book? Chicka Chicka Boom Boom? Nah, fuck all that weak shit. Check this out: new Darth Vader series by Greg Pak. Read three issues. My kids cheer the wanton death and destruction meted out by Lord Vader. That’s what’s up.

7:22PM: Kids asleep. Mark ass busters know Mommy ain’t here to save them, and Daddy don’t play that shit. Say you want about Machiavelli, but my man had shit locked down.

8:07PM: Work on low-quality listicle, because my dozens and dozens of adoring fans need that good shit.

9:02PM: More internet research.

9:06PM: Jesus H. Christ I feel dead. Read New Yorker and Atlantic articles curled up next to my son.

9:57PM: Land of Nod.

TUESDAY

5:13AM: Wordle, bitches. SWEET? Fuck is that? Should’ve been SWEPT, like my third guess.

5:44AM: Dad, can we eat? No, it’s too early, go back to sleep.

5:47AM: Dad, I have to go pee. Fine. Everybody get the fuck up. We ‘bout to carpe diem, Homies! Breakfast. Evacuations. Change clothes. Pack bags and lunches. The hour nears. Soon I’ll be all alone, ready to get crazy!!!

7:28AM: Arrive at daughter’s school. Wow, Dad, we’re super early today. Oh damn you’re first in line? That’s cool. School doesn’t start for another 15 minutes? Not my problem. Peace.

7:48AM: Arrive at son’s school. Bruh, you need to walk your lazy punk ass more. You’re too heavy and I’m too old for this shit. I don’t want to go to school!!!! I WANT MY MOMMY!!! Life’s a Bitch and then you die, Son. Have fun with your teachers — bye! Escape velocity achieved.

9:01AM: More white-person crack. Publish low-quality listicle. This is the one. I’m def going viral this time: it’s short, lazily written, plus I tagged “algorithms” yo! Sky’s the mothafuckin’ Limit. Now it’s time to get into the real shit.

9:05AM: Create Intuit account online. Install TurboTax. Powerful Impak — BOOM!

11:47AM: Eat random piece of leftover frozen pizza and errant pancake. Should I house those baked beans too? Man, why did I have to go and fucks with the Costco value pack?

12:22PM: Review income portion of tax return. Damn, Bruh, wifey makes bank. I better redouble my co-dependency efforts to ensure she doesn’t leave my schemin’ ass. Do I wanna work on Deductions? Fuck you think?

2:01PM: Internet research.

2:34PM: Text from Ol’ Girl. Damn, Boo — how can I miss you if you won’t leave me alone?

2:45PM: Pick up daughter. Mom wants to FaceTime. Yay! Good — more me (tax) time.

3:34PM: Daughter reads book to me while I wash dishes. Bruh, what happened to The Bad Guys? Ever since they went all Matrix and multiverse the shit’s been whack.

4:01PM: PBS calling. With a smooth, sultry, sensual voice like that it only could’ve been a 62-year-old white woman from Connecticut named Lorraine. Would I like to make a special one-time donation to WTTW to support award-winning programing like Poldark and Vienna Blood? You tryna front on me? You seen my wife’s paystub? How much you want? $135? Make it rain then!

4:44PM: Go play downstairs while I make a gourmet dinner. What are we having? Annie’s mac & cheese with frozen veggies — ya heard? Even that Hot Salty Fat chick says it’s the bomb.

5:50PM: Star Wars: Rebels. This show ain’t got shit on Clone Wars. Where the fuck’s Ahsoka? And I’m supposed to believe they’d let Pouty McPussypants become a Jedi? Nah, Kid. Dude’s got mad fear in him. Did Lucas write this garbage?

7:20PM: I want to read more Darth Vader! Okay. Wow Dad he chopped that fish guy right in half, my daughter delights. Yeah, shit just got real. I know he looks cool, but you do realize Vader’s the villain, right? Like, he just killed the good guys. Yeah, but I like his moves, she says. MAX-MUM CAWNAGE, my son adds. At least it’s not Full Metal Jacket. Progress.

7:44PM: Work on this piece. #Always-be-writing

8:45PM: All alone. Time to get funky. NYT Spelling Bee. Pangrams: Wrought andOutgrowth. Genius level, never in doubt. Watch Casablanca on HBO. Bruh, they don’t make ’em like they used to. But, for real though, somebody’s gotta cancel Captain Renault. Dude’s the straight up Harvey Weinstein of the French resistance. Shit is gross.

11:01PM: Internet research? Nah, washed.

WEDNESDAY

5:29AM: Where’s mama? She ain’t here. I want mama! It’s too early, go back to sleep. NO! I. WANT. MAMA!!! Listen Oedipus, I’m tryna play Wordle. DEATH. FROTH. MONTH. Check Da Skillz.

6:02AM: Wifey’s year-end bonus hits checking account. Cash rules everything around me — C.R.E.A.M. — get tha money! Dollar dollar billz y’all!

6:13AM: I wan pancakes. We don’t have pancakes. We got cereal. I don wan ceweal. It’s cereal or death. I wan ceweal. Good choice.

8:21AM: M. E. T. H. Oh shit can you believe how wildly inflated this TurboTax charitable donation tool is? Nobody in their right goddamned mind thinks those busted-ass socks are worth $2.

8:26AM: Wifey textin’ me ‘bout her conference. Just keep getting dem checks, Girl.

10:19AM: Morning meditation.

11:37AM: Choke down some baked beans and a frozen veggie burger. I got the Ill Vibe. Plus these whack-ass taxes never end. Motherfuckers, if y’all sent this shit to the IRS already, why don’t they fuckin’ do this themselves? Trickle-down economics? Word?

3:13PM: At the playground with my daughter. Look at all those white devils. Wifey texts me: I’m coming home early! Shit Bey, how I’m supposed to get Freaky Deakywith Ken Burns’ The Civil War if you’re breathing down my neck all the time? This some bullshit.

6:28PM: Rebels got me rootin’ for the damn Empire yo. SMDH.

7:47PM: Brush teeth, then comics, then bed. Mommy’s flight got delayed. Serves her right, tryna creep on me like that. Dad, did Darth Vader chop that guy’s head off? He sure did. And let that be a lesson to you: Protect Ya goddamned Neck! Now fuck off to sleep.

8:22PM: Finish this masterpiece. A modern-day Ulysses. Or so they say. I ain’t read that shit.

8:34PM: Deadbolt clicks. Got.