I love my dad. But I don't understand something about him. Every year, my dad's shorts get shorter and his socks get taller.

I love my dad but he doesn't take care of himself. His teeth are like the autumn leaves. First they turned yellow, then brown, then they finally fell out.

And there was the scary time that he had a stroke. He's okay now. But the doctor who evaluated him said that my dad doesn't have a heart. He has a giant egg yolk.

As a kid, my dad would walk around in his tighty whitey underwear -- even when -- no, ESPECIALLY when -- my friends came over. The man had no shame. He also had no good underwear. My dad is round. And for some reason he would tuck his white undershirt INTO his white underwear. Looked like the Marshmallow man. Or the Michelin Man. Or one of those fat ladies in a one-piece bathing suit. 

My dad instilled in me a love of baseball. And I do LOOOOOVE baseball. And so should you! Because this is the only chance for us regular people to curse out multi-millionaires!

You can't do that at work... Go upstairs to the big boss and be like, "BOOOO!! You f&^*in' suck!!! You call that a merger?!!  ....sir."

My dad loves baseball. I remember when all us kids were trading baseball cards, my dad would get in on the action. He would swindle 8 year olds! Give 'em 5 scrubs for Willie McGee! (NOTE: Willie McGee was one of the great Cardinals players in the 80's and early 90's. He was also inducted into UGLY HALL OF FAME.)

I think I get my stooooopid sense of humor from my dad. WARNING: This next story is true. And it is stooooopid. 

My roommate, Tom, from freshman year in college came to visit me in New York City. His first ever trip here.  The kid was real conservative. Engineer-type from the Midwest. Cool kid but definitely on the quiet side. So my dad decides he HAS to give him a tour of the city. So me, my roommate, my mom, and my dad pile in the $hit-box, um, I mean our car, and my dad starts driving around Manhattan with his boring ass tour of the city. "See that big building? I worked there from 1986-1989." Wow. Really?" Snnnnnnnore. 

Then he starts taking us downtown. "Look at all the Chinese people! Tom, have you ever seen Chinese people?"  Oh boy. Then we reach the highlight of dad's tour. In heavy New York traffic, he pulls over, double-parks with the blinkers on and yells to my mom, "Get the camera!"

What the hell? What's so great about this spot? He makes us all get OUT of the car. And he's practically jumping up and down, pointing at the street signs at the intersection. "Look! We're at the corner of Beaver and Broad! Get it? Beaver and... BROAD. Tee-hee-hee!"

ABOVE: This makes my dad laugh every time. He is a stupid, stupid man. :)

Tom's eyes nearly pop out of his head in horror. My mom -- as usual -- is screaming. And me? I'm resigned to the fact that my dad is an idiot. I hang my head in shame.

Now, my dad actually took us to do a lot of cool things on that "tour" but what do you think my roommate remembers to this day? What do you think he told everyone in my dorm? 

My dad also taught me the Law of Buffets: Eat your money's worth.

That man DESTROYS at buffets. He not only eats a lot. He comes in with a GAME PLAN. He'll scout out the location a week in advance. Come in on the night with the least customers. He's "that guy." That guy who plucks the shrimp out of the shrimp and lobster sauce.

He'll eat 3 plates of nothing but crab legs. One time I ate salad at a buffet -- my dad smacked me in the back of the head. "Are you CRRRRAZY!! Salad doesn't cost anything!! I'm not paying $9.99 for croutons! You'd better eat some MEAT!"

So that's the rule. No salads. Certainly no soups. Those fill you up. I mean, if you REALLY want, you can drain that clams out of the New England Chowder, but that's as far as you can go. Bread is also outlawed. And no sodas. They fill you up with little bubbles. Plus they cost extra. Dessert is always fun but you'd best not reach for the Jell-o. Too cheap. 

Sometimes my little brother would wuss out, "Dad, I can't eat anymore. My stomach hurts." My dad would let out a huge sigh of disappointment. I guess I have more WORK to do. Then he grabbed my brother's plate, pour it down his gullet and go back to the buffet to eat his money's worth AND my brother's money's worth.

So I've learned a lot from my dad. Now that I'm an adult, I'm PROUD to say I've been kicked out of a buffet. (It was their own damn fault! They never told me there was a time limit! Plus, it's their fault for having such nice bathrooms that allowed me to reset and start over!")  

Happy Father's Day to you dad, you slobby, undershirt- tucked-into-your-underwear, all-you-can-eat, goofy sense of humor, tall sock man.