Yes, this is really happening. As a result of a recent settlement that enabled me to evade a host of criminal and civil charges stemming from alleged systematic abuse of my former houseboy, Kang, I have agreed to adopt the lad. He arrived this morning in a stretch limousine, flanked by his attorneys and a number of flunkies from the State Office of Children & Family Services.
Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, my lead attorney, Buzz Goldenrod, was there to guide me through the process.
“Ha ha!” Kang said, as he stepped out of the limo, prosthetic hook hand glinting in the morning sun. “The shoe has turned, Mistah Boss! Or should me say, ‘Mistah Dad!'”
“Jesus Christ,” I said. “Don’t call me that.”
“But you is! You my numbah one big daddy now, Mistah Dad!”
The SOCFS representatives gasped in shock as I lunged at the smart-mouthed welp.
“Now Oz…” Buzz said, holding me back.
“What?” I said, pulling away. “I was just going to give my sohh… my sohhhh… the boy a hug.”
“But you just told Batukhang–” This was said by one of the SOCFS reps, a woman no less.
“Who?” I said.
“Batukhang Chuluun Carver? Your son?”
“Oh. You mean Kang.”
She fixed me with a steely gaze. “Regardless of his nickname, Mr. Carver, you just told him to not call you ‘dad.’ Hardly a loving start to this arrangement.”
“What? Nonsense,” I said. “I was simply explaining that he doesn’t need to call me ‘Mistah Dad.’ ‘Dad’ will do nicely. Or, if he prefers, ‘father.'”
“Hokay, Mistah Fathah,” Kang said shrugging. He grabbed his bags out of the limo and started towards the house. “Me be in living room watching Hannah Montana until you give me room. And no laundry room this time, you fat pig!”
That, more or less, was that. There were of course the expected barrage of papers to sign and preposterous agreements to comply with, and by the time the smoke had cleared I was in possession of an unwanted child. Unlike your common unwed mother-to-be, however, abortion isn’t an option in my case.
Oh well. At least in a mansion as expansive as mine, I should be able to go weeks at a time without having to see the lad. Plus, I can shunt off the bulk of the parenting responsibilities to my butler, Montgomery; a very common arrangement in the circles in which I travel. And if things get too tense, there’s always boarding school.
Anyhow, I have to split — Pete’s Poontang Emporium is sending over a four-pack of whores to help me unwind, so I need to gobble down some Viagra and get into my Speedo before they show up. Enjoy your day.