I think I can say without hyperbole that I have the coolest, most chill dad ever. The way he keeps his cool and doesn’t let petty bullshit bother him is admirable, unlike some fathers who berate their kids over every little mistake. To gauge just how naturally composed he is, we presented him with a scenario in which — and this is purely hypothetical mind you — we went on a joyride with his prized classic car and completely destroyed it.
Thanks for coming, you look great by the way. Are you using a new moisturizer? You don’t look a day over 50!
Whatever you want, I’m not buying it for you. I’m meeting your uncle for lunch so make it quick. And why do you have my keys?
Fair enough. Okay, so I think I’ve paid my dues to society driving the family’s minivan. Don’t you think I deserve just a taste of pure American muscle to raise hell around town for just an afternoon?
Oh that’s rich. In what scenario would you ever be behind the wheel of my ’68 Camaro? You would need to have a death wish! OK but seriously, I need to head out. Hand over the keys.
Right! But in some wacky parallel universe, and not earlier this morning, where I did take it for a spin and tried to pull a Blues Brothers style jump in an abandoned construction site, how would you move on from that?
First of all it’s worth more than your college tuition, so you’d be spending the rest of your life and then the afterlife paying me back. Secondly, there would be no moving on because it was your grandfather’s and it’s irreplaceable. Wait, did you barricade the garage door?
Oh yeah, I think I accidentally knocked over your beer fridge. Clumsy me! But back to the car. You have insurance, right? Just a paint touch up here or there, push some dents out of the bumper, and reassemble the drivetrain provided all the pieces of it were recovered and it would be like nothing happened. Hypothetically speaking, naturally.
If we’re JUST speaking in hypotheticals and wasting each other’s time, what if I just walked into your room and smashed up your old school video game consoles and tore up your Pokemon cards? What if I told your girlfriend that you slept with a stuffed animal until you were 22? What if — wait, is that a headlight in the garbage can? YOU ARE A DEAD MAN.