My Son Is An Idiot

“Montgomery?” I said to my butler shortly after returning from work this afternoon. “Why is there a hirsute Asian lad reading Jughead comic books at the dining room table?”

“Wot wot?” Montgomery replied, sticking his head out from the pantry. “An Asian lad? You mean Kang?”


“Kang, guv’nor.”


“Your adopted son?”

“Oh, right. That Kang. Never mind then.”

“Cheerio, m’lord. And d’ye be wanting beef, chicken or fish for tonight’s repast?”

“All three,” I said. “See if you can find someway to merge them together.”


“You know. Like a turducken.”

“Very good, sir.”

“You there!” I said, walking back into the dining room. “What’s the meaning of impregnating one of the maids before galavanting off to summer camp?”

“Screw you Mister Father,” Kang hissed, flicking cigarette ash in my general direction. “Me teenage boy. Me get boners all the time. World owes me some place to put them.”

I harrumphed, but it was difficult to argue with his line of reasoning. “Be that as it may, the abortion cost $100. It will, of course, be deducted from your allowance.”

“Whatever, tubby belly man.”

“Tubby belly man?! That tears it! You go to your room this instant!”

“Good,” he said, gathering his comics and rising. “Me tired of hearing your voice anyhow.”

“Well I’m tired of you hearing it too! Now get out of here. And keep your genitals out of my maids, you freeloader!”

So it goes. Kids, eh? Oh well, that one will be 18 in a year and a half, at which point he’ll promptly find himself waiting in whatever sort of line it is that indigent foreigners wait in. As for me, I’m off to Pete’s Poontang Emporium to have my way with a hired sex partner or three. I ate a lot of Mexican today and my bowels are already feeling quite quivery, so some lucky young woman may very well receive a classic Cleveland Steamer in the near future. In fact, I would bank on it. Good night.

Categories: Culture, Dating, Food, Idiots, Leisure, Servants

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