Father of the Beer

Father of the Beer

Well, I’d like to thank all of you (those that did) for writing me back and shit. Good to know that whining is still as strong a form of motivation as ever. And actually, I only sent out that last message because I wanted to use the word “underwhelming” in a sentence (you already used that joke, doof). Now I at least have enough phone numbers to fill up my 10 speed dials.

OK, here’s some news for you. There is a new baby in this world who’s well-being I fear for. Her name is Molly Mckenzie Rupert. Yes, RUPERT (at least it’s not Stryker). For those of you who know this Geoff Rupert character, I don’t need to go into details about why I’m scared. For those of you that don’t know this guy, I’ll try to draw you a picture. Start with a picture of me. Take my fear or at least blatant resistance to commitment and give that person “game.” Now add a few inches and years and communicable diseases (j/k, we have about the same amount). This is the guy who was out drinking with us at his wedding about 2 minutes before Julie walked down the isle. Maybe less. Later on, his father was giving a speech at the reception and Geoff was doing shots in the back room. Mike tried to drag him into the main ballroom to hear his dad. Geoff stopped, listened for a few seconds and started back to the bar…

Quote of the Day 6/27/06

“What? He’s not even talking about me.”

-Father Rupert

Well Molly, maybe you can do to him what none of us could so far. Congrats, Geoff. Now when camp parents ask if you have any kids, you can finally put them in their place.

The proud father of a 10-year old (attempted) humor column,


Still Standing Right Here…

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