First of all, I am allowed to have a social life. I’m not just gonna sit alone in my apartment like there is no life out there to live. I refuse, flat out refuse, to clear my entire day just because my sister’s twins are turning twelve and the fam is getting together at four for a BBQ. The Pub was playing a replay of the “Miracle on Ice” game at noon, and day drinking on a weekend day isn’t sad, it’s called “Brunch.” What it would have been is unpatriotic; if you skip knocking back six Miller High Lifes and watching that game you are basically spitting on a war memorial.
And, what were the kids even talking about? Pokemon? That is basically a cock fighting ring for snuggly animals that fart lightning. Hey kids, breeding pit bulls to fight each other is A-OK as long as you can encapsulate their sadness in a mystical ball after they lose. What could be better than that? How about a stack of gross-out cards that double as stickers and also stick it to lame-ass cabbage patch dolls!
My nephew Steve looked at me with a blank stare when I rattled off the best Steve cards. Stuffed Steve, he was a kid made of bread and stuffed into a turkey, that’s dope. Heavin Stevens, that was puking, one was like a polar bear boy puking into an ICEE cup, that is super gross! Stumped Steve, was a little wooden totem kid with an ax through his head, genius! And all that little shit could do was look me dead in the eyes and try to steer the conversation back to new “skins” dropping in Fortnite that night. “Fuck that” I yelled.
Then, my sister insisted I talk to the adults, so I cracked a twisted tea and sat down with my finance bro inlaw. Apparently, he doesn’t consider the Garbage Pail Kids movie an investment, even though I have like one of the five known copies on beta-max and a Japanese bootleg on laserdisc. Let’s all just pretend, that when I sell my original 1985 Adam Bomb card, I wont clear 5k on that sale. But okay, sure, I’m the asshole because I won’t take my cigarette out front. Family is the worst.