To My Unborn Son: Stuff I Won't Have the Balls to Say
To my unconceived (or born without my knowledge in a foreign land) son, presumably christened Digory or Eustace by your English mother, but your secret name -- which I whispered to the stars the night you were born -- is Sue:There is so much I want for you. I want you to be a man of integrity. I want you to respect the dignity of other human beings. Unfortunately, I also want you to succeed, and that is why you can never be the first two. Son, you will shortly discover the first rule of human existence:
Just a few successful bastards who will take your freedom, your money, your life, all of the above plus your girl and your goddamn bragging rights you waited 86 years for.
We could solve the deficit tomorrow if we taxed autotune.
Or parrots.
Every war starts with some idiots listening to a bastard.
Everyone is bastards.
We call this a "sknoord" back in Bronvarmothvaarstengart.
Stan "The Man" Lee once talked a model into leaving her husband, because a silver-tongue is the best superpower of all.
That's the one.
Now there was a man who appreciated a sexbot.
We have failed you so badly, sir.
Beast-Man can't do anything right.
Brendan McGinley writes comics about bastards with father issues.
Be sure to learn more about these bastards in 6 Brutal Leaders And Their Ridiculous Secret Hobbies and