I’ve been criticized of late for the negative bent of my monthly messages, with particular ire focused on my constant lambasting of deep thinker/intestinal parasite Bill O’Reilly.
Dear readers, I can tell you that since the birth of my second daughter, Anaïs Marie, I have, for the blissful moment, given up attacking the poor, deluded man, and by association, all of his dimwitted minions. With the birth of this 6-lb., 13- oz. cherub, I’ve little time to spend on castigating that unholy messenger of ill-informed opinions and quasi-fascist propaganda.
No, my friends, I’m far more focused on the thick mane of black hair my infant bears than the slick, unfollicled pate of Herr O’Reilly, who’d doubtlessly feel wrongly attacked for his generously impartial views. I will still, however, question the amount of spinning going on in his hermetically-sealed “Zone,” while wholeheartedly backing the lack of manipulation attending the beauty of this wee child, who, when measured at birth, clocked in at a worryingly un-round number of 19-inches. And when she wasn’t completely ablush in unabashed red, she often turned a worrying shade of pink. And, as if you needed any more convincing evidence as to my political/sociolgical/moral views, her 3-year-old sister draws multi-colored, and, one imagines, multi-ethnic circles with her left hand.
And who cares whether O’Reilly is widely regarded as the “Frank Burns of Broadcasting”? Even if he were able to acknowledge the reference, there’s little likelihood of his ever having enjoyed “M*A*S*H*,” probably one of the most subversive and popular American sitcoms of all time. I mean, didn’t that peacenik bunkum help undermine the public’s lasting impression of the noble Korean “Police Action”? What I wouldn’t give to see Hawkeye place a whoopie cushion under Bill’s high-and-mighty arse.
But this isn’t about O’Reilly, is it? It’s about the distressingly foreign-named Anaïs, who, under my tutelage, will grow into a woman who’ll surely know the difference between golden, undeniable truth and jealous schoolyard gossip.
Welcome to this beautiful, wonderfully confounding world, Anaïs.
And screw you, O’Reilly.
Love,
Papa.
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