A Father’s Day Fit For A F--king Badass
NOTE: This is reposted from my old FKS blog. Thought I'd bust it out for Father's Day. Enjoy.
Guess what day Sunday is? You see that calendar? You see what it says? That’s right, sluts. Motherfucking Father’s Day. This day used to be for all the other douchebags that had kids. Well, now it’s my turn. And I’m not settling for one of those half-assed Father’s Days my dad always had, when he got socks and a card and ended up washing the dishes anyway. I’m not playing that shit. In fact, I submitted this itinerary to Mrs. Drew and have instructed her to follow it to a tee.
7:00AM – Baby cries. Someone who is not me tends to it.
9:00AM – Mrs. Drew wakes me up while wearing the uniform of a service industry employee of my choosing. I’m thinking a 1920’s speakeasy cigarette girl. It’s eccentric, yet boneriffic.
9:01AM – Hot monkey sex.
9:15AM – Shower.
9:37AM – Watch news. Find out Brett Favre has been killed in a hunting accident. Cry hot tears of joy.
9:38AM – Play with the Girl until tired of doing so.
9:45AM – Tired of doing so.
9:46AM – Greet in-laws at the door and hand the Girl over to them. Bye, Girl!
9:47AM – Bong hit.
10:00AM – Eggs.
10:10AM – Boooooooooong hit.
10:30AM – Limo ride to Dave & Buster’s, where I down three boilermakers and beat the living shit out of a random 15-year-old at Pop-A-Shot. Yell to everyone, “I’m the Daddy here, bitches!”
11:10AM – Limo ride to airport. Drink a bottle of Cristal. Listen to “Master of Puppets” in its entirety, singing both the vocal and guitar parts. Come up with the idea for a cologne that smells like gunfire. Call my brother to have it patented. Develop marketing plan to sell it exclusively in nightclubs in downtown Houston, Atlanta, and Miami. Call venture capitalist. Secure a $100 million investment.
11:35AM – Have limo pull over. Have hot monkey sex on the shoulder.
12:00PM – Private Concorde to Atlantis in the Bahamas. Drink three Stoli & grapefruits while watching the in-flight movie, which is the first 40 minutes of “Full Metal Jacket”, followed by the first 20 minutes of “Saving Private Ryan”. Fucking. Awesome.
1:04PM – Smoke a bowl.
1:05PM – Spontaneously orgasm.
1:10PM – Land. Limo to casino. Hit blackjack table. Immediately go up $250,000.
1:42PM – Russell Crowe enters the casino. Sits down next to me. Tells me he’s a huge fan of my work and wishes he were more like me. Rubs my thigh and tells me I’m the first man he’s ever been gay for.
1:43PM – Slap the shit out of Russell Crowe. Get another $50,000 in chips compliments of the casino bellhop staff.
2:00PM – Late lunch. Two five pound lobsters. Entire smoked salmon. Gallon of beluga caviar. Bottle of Dalmore.
2:45PM – Escorted to private suite with Mrs. Drew.
2:59PM – Act out entire sequences from the movie “Night Trips,” starring the legendary Tori Welles.
4:29PM – Shower. Play with myself, just to mix things up a bit.
4:45PM – Limo back to airport. Private Concorde to New York City. Turn on satellite television to watch the World Cup. Find out soccer has been preempted by highlights of the Vikings 31-17 playoff win at Lambeau Field two years ago, the one where Randy Moss pretends to take a shit on the field. Except, in this version, Moss really does take a shit on the field, and then Joe Buck dies on the air in a hail of gunfire.
6:00PM – Land in Manhattan. Limo ride to Hudson Hotel. Get fitted for a suit by the very finest Italian tailor while in the car. Inhale entire nitrous oxide tank.
6:30PM – Arrive at Hudson Hotel Bar. Bouncer looks at guest list. I am the only name on the list. Enter the bar and instruct bouncer to bring me headshots of people who would like to get in for my approval.
6:49PM – Approve of no one. Get fucking drunk.
8:00PM – Dinner at Per Se. Thomas Keller comes to our table, tells me he’s a huge fan. Offers complimentary foie gras, fellatio. I take the former.
9:43PM – Helicopter ride back home. Ask pilot to hover five feet off the ground in select areas. Use long-range hunting rifle and night scope to gun down cats at random.
10:30PM – Pick up the Girl. She smiles at me, laughs a little, and then falls asleep.
10:45PM – Limo ride home.
11:00PM – Tuck in Girl.
11:01PM – Hot monkey sex in front of mirror. I look good.
11:15PM – Turn on news. Find out Osama bin Laden, Paris Hilton, and Jimmy Fallon all died. Drink a bottle of Cabernet in celebration.
11:29PM – Leave witty comment on deadspin.com that only I find funny.
11:30PM – Kiss Mrs. Drew good night. Throw massive kegger.
7:00AM – Sleep well, Big Drew. You are truly the king of kings.
Happy Father's Day, everybody.
32 comments:
If you haven't read it, it's new to you.
I fucking hate Jimmy Fallon.
I call this Tuesday.
My thoughts drift back to erect nipple wet dreams about Mary Jane Rottencrotch and the Great Homecoming Fuck Fantasy. I am so happy that I am alive, in one piece and short. I'm in a world of shit... yes. But I am alive. And I am not afraid.
Unbelievable...I see that there's only one comment and I flex the fingers to type, "I call this Thursday" only to see Burnsy beat me to it but with a different day of the week...bastard.
I bet he selected the latter...
Thanks Drew, this is precisely how I plan on spending my first father's day.
So you might want to warn Mrs. Drew.
I usually spend father's day drinking myself into oblivion, thanking the good Lord that I don't have any children and bemoaning the fact that for every extra year my own father lives I get less inheritance.
I fail to see how "playing with self" is mixing things up. Not in my world.
Hysterical. Hope all that happens for you, BDD.
Gotta replace the Corcorde since its finito. BBD, I suggest feeding some sleeping pills to Mrs. Drew and getting a ride in Joe Francis' jet complete with harem and Snoop Dogg... and let the good times roll.
That was fan-fucking-tastic.
You have to admire a man whose idea of Father's Day involves spending as little time with his child as possible.
Of course, the ideal day does seem to celebrate the true reason for the season -- massive unprotected sex.
I just hope you paid the limo driver extra for the sex you had with him on the shoulder.
BDD is the only man Russell Crowe has gone gay for? Man, the doctor from "Master and Commander" is going to be crushed.
Oh, and so is Meg Ryan.
this is a motherfukcin' classic.
Drew,
Your old shit is still some of your best shit.
Laughed to the point of having my assistant come in to see what I was reading. She tought it funny, too.
Jesus, what a phenomenal sounding day.
If this is Drew's father's day itinerary i'd love to see Shawn Kemps
Some of that stuff on FKS is fuckin' gold.
If you haven't read the breakdown or Assholes, Badasses and Douchebags. You've got to, it's great.
Third time I've read this, and it never gets old.
Pure class.
Substitute Lawrence Fishburn for Russell Crowe, Eagles for Vikings, Cowboys at the Linc when Sheppard returned a pick 101 yards for a TD and add Dawkins standing over T.O.'s broken and crumpled body for the playoff game at Lambeau with Moss taking a dump on the field and Nigella Lawson (whom I fuck senseless) for Thomas Keller and my ideal day is pretty much the same. Well played, sir. Well played. And Happy Father's Day, you mutha.
If you started Master of Puppets at 11:10, your hot monkey sex in the limo would have commenced with the power ending of Sanitarium. Your first words to your wife would have been "bodies fill the fields i see". Back to the front!
I want that day.
Classic.
You know its old when you have to add the "dot com" to Deadspin, so we can tell its a website thingy. Awesome stuff. Now, I'm off to google Night Trips.
my only update would probably be flying to vegas and stepping into the octagon (bare knuckles) against akon, but i understand BDD didnt put this in because its older
Utterly brilliant. Kudos and huzzah. Though it still doesn't make me want to have kids.
Also, my local karaoke bar doesn't have the all-instrumental "Orion" on their list of songs. Fuckers.
Dinner at Per Se. Thomas Keller comes to our table, tells me he’s a huge fan.
beautiferic
otto man: Ah, now I understand - I didn't see why the limo had to pull over for the sex until you cleared things up.
The classics never get old.
Happy Father's Day Drew.
Drew, please bring back FKS in some shape or form. Seriously.
Hey thats was my fathers day last year but instead of the Fancy New York food it was BBQ prepared by Ray Smith personaly....
Drew,
Maybe instead of Per Se you can hit up whatever the hell that place is they are putting in where Uncle Jed's used to be. Did we really need a bar called "Gator Alley"?
Tracer Bullet-hell YES on that Eagles game.
Fucking hysterical Drew. This and your Thanksgiving posts have caused me to practically break a rib from laughing.
When I grow up, I want to kill BDD, so that I can eat his brain and gain his warrior spirit.
Luckily for him, I'm already freaking old.
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