"You don't want us to do what?" You heard me. "Why not?" My decision is final! "You can't be serious..." Yes -- I refuse to be considered for any Father of the Year awards... "But... but..." No matter what the masses think, my mind is set. Especially with Father's Day right around the corner. Nothing will change my mind... "You'll change your mind..." No! Do I make myself clear? "Yes, sir... Are you sure don't want -- ?" I'm not worthy of any Daddy awards, okay? Don't make me explain... "Please, explain yourself." I'm not going to -- I'm a bad dad, okay? That's all I'm going to say... I'm a rotten dad. "Rotten egg bad?" Call it what you will. You see, some weeks ago, I let my younger son near a very bad influence. Really bad. What was I thinking? I'm supposed to be there for him, to protect him, to steer him away from wrong... "You don't mean -- " Yes, the Evil Empire... "How could you?! -- the New York Yankees?!" Yes... "No! How could you do that to your own son?!" It's terrible, I know... I haven't been the same since. As a life-long Dodgers fan, I don't know how I ever allowed my child -- my own flesh and blood -- to wear a Yankees jersey. "Damn Yankees..." That's what I say. Now, I wake up every night, tossing and turning, hoping it was all a bad dream, but no, it really happened. "You let him wear a Yankees jersey?" It was only for a school project, but my conscience, it won't let me rest. You see, the kid wanted to do a report on Babe Ruth, but he had to dress up like the Bambino and... he got me at a weak moment, okay? Now, I'm haunted by Ghosts of Dodgers Past -- Pee Wee and Jackie -- Van Lingle Mungo! They follow me everywhere, they poke and they prod -- they won't leave me alone! "Good. You deserve that and more!" I totally agree. That's why I renounce my candidacy for any Father of the Year accolades. "Accolades? -- that's a joke." Look, I feel terrible for what I did. I can only hope my son recovers, that those nasty pinstripes didn't dig deep into his veins... "To the dungeon with you!" Yes, I know. I deserve whatever punishment comes my way, no matter what it is... Even if it's water boarding... But before we go there, I do have a question: the water's not too chilly, is it?
Awhile back there was a lot of criticism directed at a certain celebrity. People wouldn't stop talking about him... "Did he break the law or something?" Uh, no... "How bad's the mug shot?" Uh, if you'd let me explai -- "What naughty images did he post on a social network?" -- Please, let me finish! Jeez... The criticism dumped on this guy was so uncalled for, if you ask me. "Can I ask you something?" Not now. You see, our celebrity friend was spotted with a lunch bag. In a restaurant. So what?! "You're pulling my leg." I'm not pulling anything. Look, I don't see anything wrong with walking into a restaurant with a lunch bag. Do you? "I do." Sorry I asked... My suggestion is that we learn the facts instead of ridiculing this celebrity who shall remain nameless. "What's his name?" Look it up yourself. "Come on, just one little hint..." NO! It's so obvious that sack lunches have significant meaning for this man. We should be respectful. I mean, I'm guessing that he clings to those childhood days when his wonderful mama packed him a delicious lunch, a spicy homemade burrito, with a loving handwritten message tucked inside his Scooby Doo lunch pail --- uh, lunch bag... (excuse me while I dab away some tears... it's my contacts) Getting back to the celebrity with the sack, uh, lunch: I say, leave the guy alone, okay? Let him eat his homemade lunch. At restaurants, the dentist -- or anywhere else he darn well pleases... The guy probably just doesn't want to eat by himself... All you waiters, give him a break, okay? Be nice, and he'll surely leave a good tip... "Sir, will you be ordering anything today?" I actually think it's a nice gesture on the celeb's part. "How so?" Can't you see? "I can't." He's actually lessening the load for restaurant staff... From what I understand, this famous patron doesn't put any demands on the waiters, for the most part... "Yes, I'm going to need a doggy bag... for my lunch bag." Oh...
ATM's used to make me nervous. "Nervous? ATM's?" Now they creep me out. "Creep you out...?" And for very good reason, yes. You see, it all started with a recurring nightmare... In my nightmare I approach an ATM, push a few buttons here, a few buttons there... There's all this whirring and stirring and -- voila! -- nothing. "Nothing?" Nada. Absolutely no money, no lana, no -- wait a minute, that's no nightmare -- that's my reality! "You have a zero balance, sir. A big fat zero..." (I wish ATM's were a little more discreet) Okay, so I have no money, the story of my life... But at least there's a silver lining in this whole mess... "So, how so with this fiasco?" Well, in a strange sort of way, it's really good news that I have no reason to visit ATM's these days. You see, some automatic teller machines are delivering something other than bills. "Really? Like what?" Try mice and snakes. "Mice and -- say what?!" I'm not joking. I'm really not joking. "He's not joking." People stand there, expecting their money, and what do they get instead? Furry little friends with beady little eyes... The horror... "When was this guy president?" Look, I love money as much as the next guy, so if I ever have to go to an ATM again, I'll expect greenbacks -- not green creatures that wrap themselves around my throat! "He was good man... but he never looked good in turtlenecks..." I can only imagine the look on customers' faces when they receive their surprise: "How do I fit this thing in my wallet?" Just to clarify, I'm not that afraid of snakes or rodents, but I do think it's un-American to have something other than bills coming out of our nation's ATM's. Hopefully, it's just a fad... No disrespect to anybody, but that's how I feel... "We feel for you..." It's a sign of the times, I guess... Hopefully, it doesn't get out of hand... "Sir, uh, how would you like your money -- prairie dog or black mamba?" Sheeesh...
I love feel-good stories. They make me feel so... good. Yes, and stories that reveal the decency in people make me feel especially good. They uplift me, help me get up in the morning (that, and too many liquids) . For example, there's the warm and fuzzy story about a lost wallet that was returned after some 35 years. 35 years! Can you believe that? "I do believe that, I believe I do." Simply put, there are good people out there, and they're doing good things... Now, if my math is correct (good luck on that one), 35 years takes us back to around 1976, during our country's Bicentennial. "Bison what?" You know, lots of red-white-and-blue, a bunch of fireworks and parades (I wasn't around, but I watch a lot of History Channel). Anyway, getting back to the stray wallet, I know I'd return a lost wallet if I stumbled upon one. Yes, I'm pretty sure... "Why doesn't anyone believe me?! If I found a wallet, I'd return it, I swear!" I mean, returning a lost wallet is the right thing to do (no, I'm not trying to convince myself!). It makes for a very nice story that warms the heart, I think. Unfortunately, some people out there (not me!) are so cynical, so jaded. Critics say that before we give too much credit to Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes who returned the wallet, tough questions should be asked. Like, this guy, did he prefer to keep the wallet for himself all this time, until he wore it out? Did he borrow money found in the wallet for an extended period of time? If so, he should've included accrued interest, no? All very good points if you ask me, uh... those harsh critics. When all is said and done -- "I'm done!" -- when you actually take everything into consideration, the lesson learned from this story is to not pick up other people's wallets... "Don't touch -- leave it alone!" It's too much work. Too many questions will be asked of you, too much scrutiny... You just hope the rightful owners of lost wallets are appreciative upon their return, no matter how long it takes. Yeah, you hope... "Hey, my baby picture's missing! It was right next to these credit cards! You stole my baby picture! -- Police!" Oh boy...
It's really, really tough for me to write today.... This is a really difficult subject to tackle... "But... but... why?" Well, I don't want to offend anyone... (I have to remind myself that I'm just the messenger... ) "Pssssst, you're just the messenger..." But what's my mom going to think? "If you don't have anything nice to say..." See, I was raised to see the good in people. Only the good. Unless I'm cut off on the freeway. Or told I'm ugly. Or offered a stale piece of birthday cake... "Words will never hurt you, mijo..." Okay, I gave everybody fair warning. What I'm about to present will surely ruffle some feathers (I just hope I'm not the cause of an international incident)... Here goes nothing: Recently, I stumbled upon a list of the world's Rudest Nations: France, Russia, Britain, Germany, and Other (I've always wanted to go to Other). This according to a survey of very offended travelers... "You offend me!" Now, thanks to that list, I'll save tons of money -- I refuse to visit any of those countries... other than Other... "Other is so nice this time of year..." But what about the United States? Why aren't we on that list?! "We're as rude as they come!" If I want to be humiliated, mistreated, or just plain disrespected, I'll just stay here in the states, visit Yankee Stadium... or perhaps Fenway Park. I don't have to spend thousands of dollars on foreign travel when I can find all the rude people I want here in the U.S. of A. "Is this a great country or what? -- and plenty rude, too." You better believe it... Rude and proud of it. "And don't you forget it, Mister!" How could I? As it is, so many people tell me I'm Number One every day of the week...
My wife caught me the other day. "Busted, can't be trusted." It's a day I'll never forget. "What are you doing? -- let me see!" She was mortified, and I was embarrassed, quite frankly. "I can't believe what I'm seeing..." Yes, my wife was absolutely shocked by my actions... Just when she thought she knew me, too... What moved me to such desperate measures? "I was vulnerable!" I'll get to that in a moment. What matters is that it happened and I have to admit to it... Yes, that's right... I cried. "Are you crying?" Try to understand, my wife's always seen me as unflappable, with nerves of steel. "My knight in shining armor..." How I hate to disappoint her. But here's some good news: Doctors say it's healthy to cry, it's a great stress reliever. "Are you sure?" Please understand, some of us were taught that crying's a sign of weakness. "There's names for crybabies like you!" I don't like to hold grudges, and I don't mean to blame my parents, but... I'm going to blame my parents. But all's forgiven. I feel liberated... "I can cry! I can cry!" Okay, but now what do I cry about? Suddenly I can't muster up a single tear. That concerns me. Right when I get the green light to cry, I discover that life is beautiful. Life is perfect... "Hey, did you see that Lakers playoff loss...?" Somebody get me a tissue -- now!
I know all of you out there are law abiding citizens. You'd never want to break the law, right...? "I once got a ticket for jaywalking. Does that count?" Okay, but you didn't end up in the "Gray Bar Hotel," I bet. Go to the Dark Side for a quick moment, imagine getting thrown in jail with a bunch of hardened criminals. Pretty heavy stuff, right? All eyes are on the new guy, everybody's tense. Even the toughest of the tough are a little bit nervous as the newest inmate settles in. You could hear a pin drop... Finally, somebody dares to ask: "What ya in for, son? First degree something, right?" That's when the new guy admits: "Uh, I stole a 2-year-old's piggy bank." Huh? "¿Qué dice este vato?" Don't believe me? "Don't believe you." Yes, this actually happened. Look it up... I understand the judge even tried to give this genius a second chance: "You sure you don't want to give it another go, rob a bank or something?" Sources tell me the inmates didn't beat this guy to a pulp for one sole reason: They couldn't stop laughing. "You stole WHAT from WHO?! You're killin' me!" People on the inside tell me some lifers were really insulted by the Piggy Bank Bandit's actions. "He'll ruin our reputation!" Why, Al Capone's ghost was so upset, he put in a call to Geraldo Rivera: "What's next, a 6-month-old's pacifier?" In the end, let this be a reminder to us all: Crime doesn't pay. "But what about politics?" That's a different story...
