Glamour Dad.

Glamour Dad
By Janie Mo

My Dad is Uncle Rico. Straight up. An ex-football star stuck in 1982, he sells plastic and drives a Corvette. When my step-mom left him after 25 years, he panicked, slammed a box of Merlot and then tore off in his Vette (aka 'The Black Bitch'), speeding around the neighborhood hunting tail.

Soon, my dad began calling me on a daily basis, whining to me about single life.

“There’s no goddamn women anywhere! I gotta have a woman! What the hell am I going to do?”

Apparently, banging hundreds of ‘broads’ on the side during two marriages and jerking off to ass porn for thirty years aint very fucking satisfying. So old and yet so horny. Weird.

“I don’t know,” I said, “why don’t you try Match.com or something.”

Bad idea (is it ever a good one?). My dad started sending me a bazillion self-taken shots from his camera phone (the biggest piece of shit ever). Then he would call me immediately afterward and ask for my opinion.

Because it was easier, I placated him for awhile telling him he looked “great!” when really he came across like a psychotic lizard man.

“I’m just not gettin’ any hits!” he said, mystified. “What do you think of this one?”

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Dude, you look like you just ate human flesh. You need to smile. Act natural. Stop posing in the bathroom and go outside! And have someone else take the photo. Christ!”

Translation?

Glamour Shots!