Monday, April 4, 2011


I'm going to be one hell of a father:

Daughter: Daddy?

Me: (poking my head into her room) Yeah sweetie? What’s wrong?

Daughter: (Embarrassed) I…. its dark in here. I think there’s monster. Can I have my night light back?

Me: (Chuckling) Well where do you think the monsters are?

Daughter: (pulling the covers up over her face) in the closet. In the corner behind my dresser. (Whispers) under the bed.

Me: Honey, I want you to listen to me very closely.

(I hug her reassuringly)

Me: Hiding in the darkness is for pussies, sweetie.

Daughter: What?

Me: You’re a 90 pound child, honey. You barely have enough muscle mass to lift an old tire, and you get emotionally upset watching old reruns of Pokemon. Any creature that would hide from you isn’t worth the time it would take to imagine it. That monster under your bed, the one you’re so afraid of? Daddy could snap him like a fucking twig, baby. I will throw him in a full nelson and shove his goofy ass back into whatever pixar movie he crawled out of. All your monsters are gaywads, sweetie.

Daughter: But-

Me: Now a real monster, Daddy’s monsters, they run at you in broad fucking daylight, shrieking to high hell and smelling like they just crawled out of a Vietnam flashback. They look like John Carpenters wet dream, with more rows of teeth than you have ideas in your head, and a huge, jagged erection that only goes away when they murder everything you’ve ever loved. Those monster will eat your children before you’ve even started ovulating, sweetie. And they’re everywhere, because unlike these punk ass monsters under your bed, they don’t need to hide. Do you know why? Because they’re fucking killing machines.

Daughter: O-okay.

Me: Now: do you still need that night light, or would you rather continue living in blissful ignorance of the horrors around you?

Daughter: (looking up) I’m okay daddy.

Me: (kissing forehead) I know you are.

(I begin to leave)

Me: And when do daddy’s monsters come for you, sweetie?

Daughter: Whenever mommy tries to leave daddy?

Me: that’s my girl.