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Jettisoning the Pod
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There come times in every parent’s life when they contemplate the things that they did wrong and the things that they did right in rearing their kid(s). These periods of navel-gazing examine the time spent nurturing and guiding one’s progeny to adulthood; each piece being dissected, weighed, and measured. It is when a mother and/or father must face their successes and their failures on that great playing field of raising children. This ain’t one of those times. This is the time for getting the kid out of my fucking house!
That’s right, Enron headed off to college today. Gonzo, history, outta here! Free at last, free at last! Thank god almighty I’m free at last! This day is now officially a TT holiday that I will call: Escape from the Planet of the Apes.
There is of course a cloud that surrounds every silver lining. In this case, it is the fact that, for whatever daft reason, they actually let kids out for holidays and shit. What the fuck are we paying for here anyway? I want my godamn money back! What the hell do these cretins who run colleges think we send our kids there for anyway, a fucking education? No, we send them there to get the oxygen thieves out of our houses. I mean why would I give a shit about Enron getting an education? What would be in it for me? Christ, now I have to change all the locks on the house, and I just had them replaced for crying out loud!
If I had known about this school break shit, I would have been a better parent and would have steered the boy into a life of crime. Prison doesn’t have breaks, unless a cake and file are involved. I suppose that there is always the hope that he gets recruited by the military or joins a cult or something, but Thanksgiving isn’t that far away. I may need to join a support group. You know, I have done my best to teach that kid the importance of weighing ever decision that he makes against what benefit I might derive from it. Hasn’t worked, but I have tried. And now this.
Oh well, I guess the fact that I will only have to see him a little bit (unless I can schedule my business travel to coincide with school breaks), so that is something to be happy about. Well, that and the golf ball I dropped in his gas tank. Hey, he has wrecked two cars, it’s my turn. It’s what good fathers are for.
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