My son has been ignoring me nonstop and always goes to those damn parties. This is the third year in a row he won't be home to celebrate New Year's Eve. I had it up to here!
I called up an old friend to help me in my crusade. We drove off to the club called 'Daybreakers.' I went inside, and this awful music with nonexistent melodies played. It was like listening to static, but then came lyrics about soap and a cactus. I grabbed my bat and smashed the jukebox.
A tall blonde man approached me. "Dude, what the hell?!"
He extended his arms, challenging me. I simply gave him a low blow and started swinging my bat randomly, acting like I was the drunk one, not the teenagers.
My friend, Belly Joe, ripped his shirt open, released a wild boar into the building, and then flipped tables and started pouring beer over his belly.
When the dust cleared, I went outside. I can't stand teenage sweat, but I also can't stand fireworks. Some idiots were throwing fireworks at cars, so I hit them with my bat.
Afterwards, I saw my son running downtown. "Dad, what the fuck!?" I began to chase him with my bat, yelling, "Get your ass over here, son!" But my old bones gave out, and I couldn't run anymore. Joe and I rested and drank beer while the wild boar started eating the couch.
I came home at 11:59, and my son walked in mere seconds after me. The clock struck 12:00. I hugged my boy and said, "Merry Christma-... I mean, Happy New Year! And another year of good luck!" He gave the typical teenage eye roll and said, "You're more nuts than a squirrel."
I motioned for him to follow me and presented him with a table filled with chocolate donuts. His mouth was wide open and watering, but he quickly recovered and said, "Whatever, Dad."
I crossed my arms and smiled. Finally, we had a nice father-son moment.