Ordinarily, the Week on the Wagon comes with some sort of inane, barely rational statement of purpose, like where are our balls, or how many z’s are there in papparazzi (I still don’t know). But I’ve decided to skip that this week and cut straight to the question that’s on the hearts and minds of all Dadwagon readers:
Where the fuck is Nathan?
Now, come on, my friend, one post a week—largely about your not being here—just isn’t going to cut it on the Wagon. We have standards, you know. And principles. And issues–lots of issues. I know, I know, this whole “covering of world events” thing you do is important to you—you being the operative word here. There is no me in you, Nathan, and thank god for that, cause that’s a joke line that went completely awry. I will leave you for now with one thought—write when you learn how!
Christopher spent the week thinking, of all things, about politics, with posts on why Antonin Scalia is a bad father (editorial addition: and a big fat dickhead), how Ron Paul’s son is Ron Paul’s son and how that makes him a racist; in his spare time he complained about incompetent skateboarders in Gramercy and bad Yiddish in the Times.
Theodore, meanwhile, was preoccupied with money: how much a public school would cost him, what a mother might charge him, and, though only tangentially related to cash, what sacrifices he would need to make to see Lebron James in home whites at the Garden. He also found the birthday gifts coming to his son to be excessive.
Matt needed a mancation, wanted to teach the young to skateboard, proclaimed new dads depressed, and accused his daughter of being moody.
Well, that’s what we did for you, folks, with love, for a week. Senseless complaining, bad jokes, poor grammar, and plenty of cynicism—thy name is Dadwagon.
Have a nice weekend.
[Nathan—don’t leave us hanging like that, bro’. Matt was in tears. Seriously.]
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