“$h*! My Dad Says.” (And the $h*! I say right back.)

“Dewey, your blog isn’t commercial enough.”

“What?”

“It’s too out-there.”

“I think you misconstrued, Da, the concept of Junkpunch.”

“Like I told you 10 years ago: You can’t be a poet unless you’re going to be a millionaire poet.”

“Ten years later, I still can’t name one millionaire poet.”

“Maya Angelou.”

“I’m not her.”

“Well, I think, uhh, umm, your blog is a little too, uhh, umm, yeah, about, you know, your status…”

“…On Facebook?”

“You know…”

“Gay.”

“Um…”

“Well, Da, maybe you should’ve spent more time with me in the backyard playing baseball.”

“You couldn’t catch the ball!”

“I was slow because I was fat, not because I was gay!”

“Dewey…”

“We all can’t be you, Da, a captain in the Army walking barefoot carrying nuclear warheads through the Himalayas.”

“I never said you don’t. Or didn’t. Or couldn’t. Or won’t. You know how to play the game – you just refuse to play it. Stop listening to the butterfly lovers – and make yourself some green bread! You should make an attempt to make some kind of mainstream, you know, art.”

“That’s not me.”

“I raised you to be.”

“I think you need to go adopt a straight, Christian, tall, athletic, handsome, right-handed, white, male son. Or at least Spielberg’s version: Shia LaBeouf.”

“Who?”

“Oh.”

“Yup.”

“Why is Gordon Gekko on the subway?!”

“Fuck if I know – I’m not Oliver Stone.”

“I know that, but you should be.”

“I mean, I dunno – how can you crush the lower orders if you don’t know how they roll?”

“We didn’t need to know that in my day. You just did it.”

“How about I make you a deal?”

“What?”

“I know you’re not comfortable with my status. But I know what will make you happy. I will bring home…”

“Um…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t bring a Latino or Middle Eastern musclebear daddy to Thanksgiving.”

“I don’t even want to know what you just said.”

“I will bring home a Yacht Gay.”

“A what?”

“He doesn’t go to the community center. He hosts benefits for the community center. And with one stroke of the pen to the checkbook could make a huge impact for the rising number of homeless American gay youth regardless of race, class, gender, or geography and the devastating number of American teens who have contracted HIV/AIDS, if he didn’t put all his money in feeling colossally oppressed because he can’t get married yet or because DADT hasn’t been overturned for the armed forces he has no intention of serving in nor could last in.”

“Was that a Junkpunch?”

“You’re catching on, Da! I am so proud of you!”

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