Shawn, there is something that I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time….
Like for 8 years…
You are not the Father.
I think that he knows already.
I mean, you two share nothing in common besides laying on the couch all day and having this impeccable talent of farting.
Oh and you both love my underwear…
…only Champ eats the crotches out of mine…
…not with me in them…
Champ pees on everything in our yard.
And oddly you pee on everything in the bathroom.
Write this down: Toilets were made to be peed IN not on, around, and “in the general area of”.
Champ does not own testicles anymore.
And when I’m enduring mood swings, you also do not own testicles.
And it’s really weird how yours recoil when I mention babies.
Champ likes to sniff bums of other people.
I’m glad that you don’t do this.
Champ owns more hair per square inch than your mother’s upper lip.
And you own more hair under your armpits than Rosie O’Donnell’s upper lip.
And he’s brown.
Did it just get awkward in here?
Champ is wonderful with children.
And so are you.
Maybe you are his father?
You have some serious explaining to do mister….
Happy Father’s Day my sweets.
There’s some cold Hoegaarden waiting for you in the bar fridge.