No music today, leeches, just a big ass shout out to all my Punk Pops and Metal Thrashing Dads. Real men running shit and raising the next generation of muckrakers and ne'er do wells. This is for the masters of the daddyverse, the Yngwie Malmsteems of daddery. I'm talking about real motherfuckers like Mark Underground, Saul, Danny B, E. Bryers,El Sav Larry,Stevil, John Clancy, Robzub, Scott Kelly, Milos, Dave Clark, Scott Duncan, Jason Walton, Chewy, some newbs to the club like Dave "Lord D," Ron Nichols, and Slobodan Burgher, anyone I may have forgot, and all Dads who visit this site. Dads rule plain and simple. They bring the fun, the rough housing, the tough love and the not-so-tough love. Dads know neat little tricks like how to stop a nose bleed with a match book or how to make a hangman's noose. Dad's often know when to back the fuck off and let it go. Most importantly, Dads are wizards at just making shit up on the spot when faced with something they don't know about. Dad's may yell when they're at the end of their rope, and then turn around and laugh at a fart a second later. It's the enigma of fatherhood. This is your day, Daddio, lay about in your shit-stained tighty whites and bellow drunken incoherent epithets at the TV show of your choosing. I know I will.
Oh, and I am blowing off work to go see Angelcorpse, Ares Kingdom, and Gospel of The Horns tonight. So there!!!