From the original article on June 27, 2007. Author: Chateau Heartiste.
Dear fruit of my loins,
You’re not getting any inheritance. I plan to blow the whole wad on booze, traveling, and Ukrainian hookers. I’m going out with a smile on my face. So prepare for your future.
Forget about a college fund. You think I want to sock away a hefty percentage of my take-home so I can put your ungrateful ass through an overpriced IQ-notarizing ivory tower for the benefit of corporate human resources departments? Fuck you. Save up yourself, get a loan, or learn a trade. The library is free.
Don’t come to me for a self-esteem boost. That’s your mother’s job. I’ll tell it like it is. You’re getting fat? I’ll let you know. You throw like a girl? I’ve got the video to prove it. That’s a father’s job; to give you a taste of reality that’ll either motivate you to improve or divert your energies into more productive pursuits. Fuck this kumbaya cooperative superfeminized dreamworld shit that’s killed the American spirit. I’ll give it straight up.
If I catch you masturbating do not look me in the eye. We are never to speak of it. We will act as if nothing ever happened.
On a related note, you are not to disturb me while I am in my masturbatorium.
I will have mistresses because it is the French thing to do. Get used to it.
I will flirt with your unbelievably luscious, hot teenage female friends no matter how old I get. Get used to it.
I will never hit you. Instead, I will mindfuck you until you are hitting yourself for your foolish behavior.
I will love you very much… unless you do things that will make me not love you. Nothing is unconditional in this world. Learn that lesson well.
If someone is causing you undeserved trouble or heartache in your life, you will have no more powerful ally than me. Do not abuse this privilege.
To my daughter: Disownable offenses include stripping, whoring, getting your vag tattooed or pierced, sex with losers, bukkake, home made porn vids, and majoring in womyn’s studies at a 36K/year no-name liberal arts college. Choose wisely. If necessary, I will spring for plastic surgery to improve your looks. Trust me, it’ll be the best investment a father could possibly make in his daughter.
To my son: You will learn how to say Hi to girls before the age of 16 if it kills you. There will be no Star Trek or Lord of the Rings posters in your room. You will instead have Helmut Newton photographs hanging on your walls and a copy of Mystery Method. I will treat the family dog better than you if you major in anything that doesn’t ensure a salary high enough to keep you from grubbing off me. Learn how to throw a punch. If you turn out gay, don’t ever bring your “boyfriend” around me. Certain things are best left in the realm of the abstract.
Finally...
if I find out your mother was a two-timing whore and you are not my kid, you will never hear from me again. Kindly direct all your rage her way.
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