“I went to visit my dad. He didn’t say a word to me. Or if he did, I couldn’t hear it through the grass, the dirt, and his coffin lid.”

“Even though I buried our love in a coffin, it isn’t dead. No, our love is very much alive. Or at least it was yesterday, when I went to visit the cemetery.”

“My dad always used to tell me __________________. My dad never told me anything. He had nothing to say, and even less to say to me.”

“My dad was born poor, made a fortune during his life, and then died suddenly—murdered by his only son, leaving his vast estate to a daughter I didn’t know he had.”

“I went to the priest for confession, but he didn’t do it.”

“A Cyclops on a unicycle juggling three giant eyeballs couldn’t compare to the balanced vision my writing presents. In fact, noted linguist and translation expert Dora J. Arod had these flattering words to say about my writing: “I wouldn’t read Jarod’s writing—not even if he paid me to read it. And he does pay me to read his writing, but that doesn’t mean I do.” Of course the quote continued on, but that was the only part that was praising.”

“Just to show my dad that I think he's number one, I bought him a urinal cake for his birthday.”