Frankie Strong

First, let me tell you that I am a blessed man. I have 16 kids, all toddlers. (That’s a lot more than Anthony Quinn ever had, so stick it AQ!) Well, actually I have 151/2 toddlers. Besides the two sets of boy twins, my girl twins, my fraternal twins, my five girls and two boys, I have Shiloh, my retarded son.

Now, this might be the beer ball and lack of sleep talking, but I know that for the good of our species, I should drown him. Right?

Now before you call me a monster, let me assure you that I’ve been thinking about this for almost 4 weeks. And besides this is what happens in the animal kingdom. Lions kill their substandard cubs and so do other animals like rats, ground squirrels and prairie dogs. And we’re nothing but giant prairie dogs, right? Right. So before my son can pass along his inferior genes, I know what I have to do. 

The problem is that I can’t do it. I’m weak. Every time I think about pushing Shiloh’s head underwater I break down, because I love that goofy bastard. I love his crooked smile. I love that even though he’ll never get any of the jokes, he’ll still watch Family Guy with me, and I love that he doesn’t mind sharing his disability checks. 

So maybe for the sake of our species, I should embrace that love and not drown my retarded son. Maybe instead I should drown the normal kids? I don’t know. It’s all very confusing. Maybe I should figure out this obsession with drowning, get some sleep and go to AA.

Or maybe I should recognize my son Tyler’s ability to throw the football and turn him into his generation’s Todd Marinovich. Yes, that’s exactly what I should do....Boy, I’m glad I figured that out.