To: Hollywood writers, directors, actors, producers, and Ann B. Davis. (Just because.)
From: The Red Sox Dad
Amount seeking: 1 Kazillion dollars.
Reason: False advertising.
Dear who it may concern,
I received an angry phone call from my employer tonight, with him ranting and raving about "stupid tv is a LIE", something about it's about time they learned a lesson, and strangely a profanity filled tirade at that nice man who used to play The Beaver's Dad on television.
It seems as if he's a bit, well, miffed (I can't say the word he actually used; I just can't.) at the inaccurate way families, particularly families at dinner time, have been falsely portrayed all these years. I couldn't pick it all up, especially when he started breaking plates in the background, but I did at least understand the following. And I quote:
"I've been watching tv my entire life. And between that idiot Nelson family, the Brady Bunch and those 6 brats, and Cliff Huxtable and his crew, all I've ever seen on tv when they eat is a bunch of well behaved kids wearing clean clothes calmly eating dinner. There is no throwing of food, no cups knocked on the floor, and there has NEVER been shown a shot of the Dad slowly having a stroke with big, giant crocodile tears rolling down his face. It's false advertising I tell you!"
Apparently, dinner didn't go well tonight. Best I could make out Rakes spent the entire time with a piece of pizza in his hand while he made it dance and at the same time shouted out "Who let the dogs out?" over and over. Also, Ciera alternated between crying about her pizza being hot and rattling off some story about Jamie, school, and detention while Trot did his best impression of a chain smoker, only with a pacifier; Paci out, eat a bite. Paci in. Paci out, eat a bite. Paci in.
You get the idea. All this while my employer tried to eat his dinner and read his latest edition of Sports Illustrated while dispensing fatherly advice like "Quit doing that!" and "Do you WANT to go to bed without dinner?"
In case you're wondering, he didn't take kindly to my advice that maybe his wife would appreciate him not reading at dinner and actually talk to her; in fact, he became quite belligerent and kept asking me to tell him Donald Trump's catchphrase. Which I refused to do.
He gets like this every now and then, especially when a man named Jon Lester (I think he plays for that baseball team he likes so much) is pitching. I know this because I've gotten phone calls at all hours of the night with him screaming out things like "Why can't he throw a *&#@*&% strike?" and "HIT the mascot!"
Please take this for what it's worth; the ramblings of a tightly wound man who although he loves his family dearly, clearly needs a break. Thankfully, something called "Elmerpalooza" is happening next week and he seems really excited about that. Know that I realize this is a frivilous lawsuit, I only sent this because I need the job, and he really is a nice man.
Even if he is clinically insane.
P.S. Could you possibly procure an autograph for my employer from someone named Al Bundy? He really seems to like that man.
The Stuff You Can’t See
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