Out-Numbered

So my Dad came in to visit last weekend so we could sort out some heavy father-son shit. Right? I was looking forward to spending some time alone with him and getting some stuff off my chest. It's all good. Even though it was something we both felt we wanted to do, I have to admit, I was a little fucking tense. Not to be a whiny little bitch but I've got a lot of shit on my mind lately and getting my affairs in order have been hard work. Honest work but hard work nonetheless. So we went to a steakhouse. Because that's what grown men do when they need to talk about heavy shit. It makes total sense to me. You need the balance that a good steakhouse can offer. All the heavy shit that's coming out of you, all emotional like, needs to be replenished with sirloin. It's like meat Gatorade. Possible future slogans for Meat Gatorade: Meat. It's in you. Meat. Put it in you. Meat. Is it in you? Meat. Is it in you yet? Cowplenish your thirst. Obey your filet. Feel the moo. ...