Free to a Dysfunctional Home

Free to a Dysfunctional Home

He’s 40. He’s fat, although he prefers the term ‘portly’ or ‘robust.’ He’s highly opinionated, quasi-literate and a devout follower of any AM radio talk radio demigod.

He’s excellent at sniffing out the flaws and errors of others, and verbally regurgitating (word for word) whatever his right ear hears on the radio. He has encyclopedic knowledge of all things negligible and minuscule. His table manners are nonexistent, as is his awareness of, or adherence to, issues of personal hygiene.

He’s lost his driver’s license, his motivation and his sense of the present. He clings steadfastly to his titanic sense of entitlement and his undiminished conviction that any eruptive liquid-based swishing or rumbling noises emanating from deep within his corpulent body are worthy of all-embracing interest, and instant, world-wide attention.

He’s lard-laden. He’s two score. He’s sleeping on my living room couch and has occupied that place of honor for just over 2 years.

This is the season of giving, and with that in mind, I offer him to you free of charge. Even though his departure will inspire my lovely wife to test the limits of my celibacy, I am willing—in the spirit of the season—to bear the unbearable sadness of his departure, in the hope that he will spread his special brand of cheer and pungent body bouquet to your abode. I can sweeten the deal for you by throwing in my car, my golf clubs and all my pin numbers.

He’s mammoth. He’s 40. He chews, drools, dribbles and spits into the once living potted plants. The wafting aroma of salt-tang-man-musk precedes him on the rare occasions when he waddles from one room to the next. His room temperature IQ affords him insight into the issues so often (and justifiably) overlooked by others.

Too good to be true, you ask? Yes, but once in a lifetime opportunities usually only arise once in a lifetime.

Squirt me an email. We'll discuss options.