The Ol’ Man’s one-liners from family Thanksgiving as transcribed by my cousin Cara Depew. She calls him Uncle Dingus. It is fitting.
“Is that a natural body odor coming off one of you two, or is that one of the animals? Damn that smells good. Is that Grandma?” -Dingus
“God, I was looking at YouTube last night. I wanted to see videos of chimps attacking people, but there was all these videos of chimps mating. And there was this one of a chimp trying to get with a sheep. The sheep wasn’t having it, so the chimp went around front and started humpin’ his face! You know, I got into a regular fuckfest! I know you’re going to go look it now. They was doing the wild thing.” -Dingus
“If I saw you mating with a chimp, I’d leave…to go get my camera. Then you’d be on YouTube. This is Tina with BONZOOO. Hahaha. No, I’d leave, Tina. So you can do want you want to do. Do you thing.” -Dingus
Also check out our Shit My Family Says Facebook page, curated by us. Because my family is kinda awesome-slash-nuts.
I’ve been trying to get TOM to quit smoking ever since I discovered my 6th grade health textbook. Sandwiched in between photos of a uterus and a pair of men’s balls was a horrid image of ash-covered, blackened lungs. My dad’s lungs. Losing my mother to cancer only exacerbated the fear that my pop would someday die a too-early death thanks to stogies. Five years ago, I offered to move home from NYC if he quit smoking. I bought him The Easy Way To Stop Smoking by Allen Carr. I said I would pay for patches, meds, gum, candy, robotic cigs, whatever it takes. Needless to say, I moved home a year ago only to wave smoke out of my face.*
A conversation we had last week:
Me: Do you still have that Easy Way To Stop Smoking book I bought you a couple years ago?
Dad (deep sigh): Yes, Tina.
Me: Maybe you can try reading it? It says you can still smoke while you read it…
Dad: OK, Tina. Can we talk about something else?
A conversation we had today:
Dad: I’ve been reading that Easy Way To Stop Smoking book whenever I’m on the shitter.
Me (trying to contain my excitement): Really?! That’s so great!
Dad: I’m still smoking.
Me: I know.
Dad: It’s really interesting. I only read it when I’m going to the bathroom, and I go to the bathroom at least 12 times a day. I’m on page 80.
Me: Wow! It means a lot that you’re reading it.
Dad: Yeah, it’s good. Sometimes I go to the bathroom when I don’t even have to take a shit. I just pull down my pants and sit on the crapper so I can read that book.
* I get that cigarettes are addictive and probably harder to quit than booze, chocolate and prostitutes combined. Harping on my dad doesn’t help. He needs to quit in his own time, when he’s ready. I know this. But nonetheless, losing TOM to lung cancer is a very real fear that keeps me up at night. Don’t worry — I’m going to therapy.
An email I just received from my dad:
Let me preface the next blog post I am about to write by saying what just happened 30 seconds ago. I called my dad via FaceTime, because this is how he often likes to chat (his new iPad and all), to ask him permission to write about what I am about to write about. In case you don’t know, FaceTime is basically Apple’s version of Skype — you are talking face-to-face on camera. The moment he answered and I saw his face… I knew it. I know my old house well enough to recognize the cabinet above the toilet and the wooden beams on the ceiling. I have clearly interrupted his game of Angry Birds — his bathroom ritual. I instantly cringed.
Dad: Hi, can I call you back? I’m in the bathroom!
Me: I can see that! Grooooss.
Dad: Well, I’m naked as hell! You can’t see anything, can you?
Me: No! Just your face. Gross.
Dad: Well, if my phone rings, I’m going to answer it! Can I call you back?
Me: Well… I just have one question.
Dad: Well, hurry. I’m on the shitter.
Me: Do you care if I write about what you said yesterday?
Dad: I don’t give a rat’s ass what you write about. If it doesn’t embarrass you, it doesn’t embarrass me. Well… don’t put anything on there that would make me look bad. Like, don’t say you caught me screwin’ a dog or anything. Not that something like that would happen. I don’t do dogs. But if you’re over here and you catch me sleepwalking, and I’m humping the fireplace, don’t write about that. Now do you want me to call you back?
Me: No, that won’t be necessary.
I was chatting with my dad the other day, and as it often does, the conversation quickly turned south. As in the Ol’ Dirty South.
Dad: So, did I tell you I really like my new iPad?
Me: Yes. I’m glad you like it.
Dad: Oh! I didn’t tell you. I was looking at YouTube the other day. And I found animal sex!
Me: Why were you looking up animal sex?!
Dad: I wasn’t looking it up! You know how when you watch a video, it suggests more similar videos for you to watch? Well, I kept clicking and watching a bunch of stuff until eventually I found these dirty videos!
Me: Gross. Continue reading
My dad has been talking about wanting an iPad for the past six months. He said if
Santa I got one for him for Christmas, he would happily pay for half of it. Well. About a week before Christmas, we got into an argument. (As close as we are, we bicker quite a bit. I don’t talk about this on The Blog so much.) I am usually to blame for our fights, but this time, I Was Right. I wanted to make my dad feel bad for how he was acting, so I told him I got him an iPad for Christmas (which I was planning to buy). He was sad the surprise was ruined. So was I.
Two days later, I came up with The Plan of All Plans. I told my dad that due to a conversation I had with my accountant about paying my 2011 taxes, I unfortunately wouldn’t be able to afford the iPad like I’d thought. I apologized. My dad was sad again. He thought about going to Best Buy to buy one himself. I reminded him that he recently spent a lot of money fixing his truck and had to
buy me Christmas presents be responsible with his funds. He agreed. Continue reading
On the way home from the furniture store tonight, my dad regaled me with more talk about his gastrointestinal issues.
Dad: When I walk by your room, can you hear my farts?
Dad: Do you hear me farting in the bathroom?
Dad: Well, I’m surprised, because I let loose with a good 14 cubic feet of gas in there. It’s like, I’m expelling enough gas to power a nuclear submarine from here to the North Pole. Do you ever fart?
Me: If I do, it smells like roses.
Dad: I swear, I fart enough in a day to power an 18-wheeler from here to Topeka, Kansas.
Me: That’s nice. Can we talk about something else?
Dad: Did you know that people are dying because they don’t have toilet stools? There’s a TV show about it! The Orientals and people in Thailand… they have to poop in a hole in the ground, and then the feces seeps into their water and such. People are dying from this. I DVR’ed it if you wanna watch.
Me: No, thanks.
Dad: You know, dogs lick their own ass so they can get more nutrients. Your cat better not start doing that. I won’t put up with Nasty-Cat eating her own poop. That’s one of the requirements to live in my house — you’ve gotta refrain from eating your own shit.
Me: I guess I made the cut, then.