Last Words From Your Liberal Dad By Matt Tanzosh on, a situation has happened that I do not have the words to describe because you have taken them from me. All of my words are gone, and I understand now that that’s just the way things have to be. I’m not going to begin to pretend to understand you or the company you keep, but you’re trying, goddamn you. You really do keep trying. That’s what will keep your old man young. You try at home, you try at the Dallas BBQ on 72nd and 3rd, and you try at the bar when I’m really just trying to get drunk and relive the past with my friends. I know sometimes it seems like your mother and the twins just want to eat the dinner that your tired old man bought for them, but I’m always happy to have that debate with you. Make me better, boy. Keep me up to date. The daily text messages that you send me from websites whose names I do not recognize, written by… individuals—is that one still cool? Individuals does seem a little divisive. Before you say anything, I know I know I know that technically there is no such thing as an individual anymore, now that the physical human form has been deemed a tool of oppression. Good thing, too. Is human form not the thing we’re calling that anymore? I know not everyone that still maintains a corporeal form identifies as human. I’m not getting any younger, and you’ll have to let a few of these slide. I know last week human seemed alright. Then those creatures from the sky came. I don’t know anymore. I never really got into sports. I’m sorry if that’s affected you in any way. The text messages help, is what I’m saying. Mom wants to know if you’re eating okay too, alright champ? I don’t want to describe the incident that has occurred because I’m no longer sure how I can express it to you without getting you all fired up at your old pop, and I don’t have the time to watch a movie on Netflix without fast-forwarding through half of it, because death is too close for me to sit through the Stepford Wives remake. I don’t have the time to work it out for myself, so please make me feel like a baby who doesn’t know anything about the way the world works, for progress. I’m going on 50 now, and the clay is a little brittle, but take my stiff infant mind and fill it with your Wikipedia plot synopsis of enlightenment. You make your mother and I feel like we are clinging fast to a bamboo stick stuck in the dirt, during a windstorm determined to carry us away screaming into the night—and your constant reminders that I fall short of the people we must become, just…
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god…fucking…god bless you for it. Alright, but so like, I have a question: if a trans-human, assigned tiger at birth…person? I’m sorry! If a human, that was once living on all fours in the forests of Borneo— if they (?) have sex with a Genderprismist (see, your old man knows some of the terminology—some of it sticks) originating from Jupiter…is that gay? I guess it wouldn’t be bestiality, because now that we can speak with animals, they can give consent (which, no matter what you say, will always freak me out. If you see your sister, tell her to bring Fluffy around sometime. I miss her.) so it’s not bestiality, you’ve made that abundantly clear, but like…there’s got to be a word for what that is. Your brother wants me to stop asking you these types of questions at dinner, in front of the gelatinous cube you’ve taken to seeing, but if I’m ever put in that situation I want to know! Your generation is just so much better than ours. I got beat up for not liking the Yankees, but you can watch your baby sister have sexual intercourse with the German Shepard you raised from a puppy, and truly be happy for her. I know you wouldn’t want me to pat you on the back for just “being a decent person” but, really, that’s amazing. [Smileyface emoji] While I have you, by the way, I’d like to apologize for what your mother said about the nameless gelatinous cube you now share your life and apartment with. I know “cute” is a human construct and to apply it to a pink jelly cube is essentially assault. She just liked the shade of pink, is all. I’ll talk with her about it. For what it’s worth, that cube is the very embodiment of whatever word or quality those things like to be known for most. I think. I almost forgot! The event that happened! I…went…to the… place…where…life…keeps…it’s—I’m sorry son. I’m just going to have to say it, and you’ll have to correct me later: I went to the cupboard and we’re out of coffee. Can you pick up some more on your way home for the Holidays? We’ve had a shortage here since Commissar Sanders declared that we can’t exploit other countries use of slave labor—which is awesome! I gotta go, some future stuff is happening that I cannot even begin to fathom. It’s like my life is one big eldritch horror—that through your patience I have come to love! I love you so much. [like eight heart emojis] Sheepishly, Dad (Former Head Writer, Nonsense Humor) 23