Happy Father’s Day! Tacos For All!

Happy Father’s Day to all you sloppy bastards. They sell condoms at 7-11, FYI. Way to choke bro. Blew one right past the goalie, some of you more than once! Dudes, pulling out is not just something you do in a pickup truck.

Seriously though, as I prepare to go visit my gal’s family on this hallowed day, I reflect on my own dear old man with a smile. I never knew him all that well, but toward the end there we had a couple of years as adults to chat and even get along. I have many good memories of the guy. He liked science. I do too. He liked playing pool, and one of the last times I ever saw him I whupped his ass at it three games in a row at a crappy bar called the Hungry Tiger. He hit me in the head with his pool cue. Damn, that was good. He came to see my blues band The Telephones one time at a club called Berbatis, flew up and snuck into the audience and I was able to dedicate a particularly disgusting song to him (to his great delight). There’s more. I was too hard on him in life, inspired by the worst people around him to judge a guy a didn’t even understand, and I’m glad I reversed course on that in the end. The main things I have to thank the ghost of Jack Phillip Gayferd Johnson Jr. for? My love of tacos, cooking, Phys.org and old country music.

To all you sperm slobs out there, do your best! And all you rotten kids, look past the strange flaws of the dipstick who couldn’t find a 7-11. And if your old man is gone, take a minute and think back on the best shit they did for you. If you don’t, you’re a wee bummer. I’d also like to take up a little more of your time to salute the late James Crumley, father to all modern day crime writers. Cheers dude. Drink one in writer heaven for us. I don’t have a picture of JP, but there is a good one above of Grandpa Crumley.