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OPEN LETTERS
An Open Letter to the Man Who Disinherited Me
How grateful I am
Dear Dad (and I say that loosely):
It is with much gratitude that I write this letter on the anniversary of your death. Thank you, Melvin, for excluding me from your will. For it was you who said that money isn’t everything, and you certainly proved that by disinheriting me. Although you found it in your heart to bequeath your bug-eyed hussy all the money you had plus the townhouse in Long Beach.
No, I’m not passing judgment. Nor am I pissed you didn’t leave me your Toyota Camry, the cheery-red one with the white leather interior— that would have been a good going away present.
Instead, you left me with a cassette tape of your raspy, deathbed voice, telling me to take care of my mother when you’re gone. Wow, what a nice legacy. I’d rather take care of a tarantula.
You left me with all the good stuff, Dad. How generous.
Oh, and thanks a lot for the Male Pattern Baldness. Because of your lousy genetic code, I inherited my shiny, hairless pate and a narrow band of hair at the back of my head that comes in handy when I want to impersonate Happy the Clown.
Visiting your grave, I get teary-eyed at the thought of you having banged every slut in…
