Father’s Day Tribute to the Men Who Think Beef Jerky Solves Everything
Dear Dads, Happy Father’s Day, you helpful, impatient morons. We love you. We do. Really. Somewhere under the irritation and sarcasm, there’s appreciation. It’s just buried beneath the pile of laundry you left in the floor… again. Let’s get one thing straight—parenting wouldn’t be the same without you. Not worse, not better—just not the same. Who else is going to open the vacuum-sealed toy packaging with the strength of a Greek god while we pretend we weren’t just gnawing at it with our teeth five seconds ago? You're the kings of "you ok?"—uttered with the concern of a man who just witnessed a house fire but doesn’t want to actually get up. Meanwhile, the kids are fighting over peanut butter, the dog is wearing underpants, and something in the trash is definitely dead. But yeah, sure. I’m fine. Thanks for checking, Your Highness. You help make lunches! Awkardly tossing those goldfish in sandwich bags like you're slinging contraband, a frozen Uncrustable, some gummie...