The Balls On This Idiot

Some chutterfuck HERE is imploring us to please don't call him a hero for staying home to take care of his kids.

Um, yeah. Don't worry dipshit, we won't.

“He’s a Manny,” Trish answered for me.

“A what?”

“Manny,” I repeated for the four millionth time in three years.  “You know, like a nanny, but a man.  An oiled-up, ripped beyond belief man.”

I winked at Trish.  She wasn’t looking.  Dammit!

“Really?” Charlie Brown looked awestruck. “That’s amazing! Really, that’s something!”

“So admirable!”  I heard behind me.

I asked Charlie Brown what he did for a living.

“I’m a senior project manager for Google Maps.”

I sighed, and didn’t even bother asking if he wanted to switch jobs with me.

“Hey,” someone who wasn’t Charlie Brown piped up, “I read in the paper about some guy on the upper West Side who just started doing that!”

A murmur ran through the crowd, like he’d just told them he saw Bigfoot. He went on and on about the guy, this great American hero; finally, I cut him off in mid-sentence.

“So I’m slugging it out on the front lines all these years, and this motherfucker makes the goddam paper?”

“Well, you don’t hear a lot about men watching kids,” some new asshole piped in as he walked into our group.

“Hey, you live long enough, I reckon you'll eventually see everything,” I said, waving my arms like a drunken idiot.  Which, of course, I was. “Including someone with balls taking care of children in exchange for money. Gee, if only we knew one of these most noble of creatures walking amongst us!”