T. CHASE MEACHAM
Son, I think we need to talk. It’s been such a joy to watch you grow up, but I’ve been chatting with some folks around town and frankly, we have some concerns. I apologize that this is coming late in life, but you won’t be 37 forever, so let’s dive in.
To start, your mother and I have some concerns about your academics. You’ve repeated high school many times now, and we’re starting to think it may not be for you.
Now look, you know your mother and I are proud as two nerds in honor class about how much you’ve excelled in wrestling, especially in these later years, and your masterful dioramas are truly top notch in their detail and specificity. As I always say, you have your father’s eye for beauty and your mother’s fearsome strength. But as far as those grades go, you’re really clutching them by the ankles and feeling up the toes, so to speak. Your mother’s words, not mine.
We think it’s time you focus. Your mother suggests studying. She claims she was a good student but I happen to know the teachers were frightened by her intimidating size, so who’s to say.
One tip would be to try brushing up on those flash cards once in a while. Or, you could partner up with one of the nerdy foreign kids who can take tests for you in exchange for your protection in the hallways and cafeteria. What I mean to say is, there are many ways to excel at academics, you just need to find what’s right for you.
Another trick we suggest is digging up some dirt on your teachers and extorting them for better grades. The Russians call this Kompromat. Here’s an example: Ms. Lindell likes to do cosplay dramatizations of Harry Potter fan fiction, but she refuses to play anyone but Dobby. And your friend Principal Tucker is a frequent flyer at the bathhouse downtown, but only for the house specials on Wet Wednesdays.
The truth of the world, son, is that the ones who rise the highest are the ones who blackmail best. You heard it here first. Your mother and I love you very much.
Now your father and I were talking the other day, and we have some concerns about your clothing choices. You know we support your individuality more than anyone, except perhaps your mother. She’s very conservative, but don’t hold it against her because she used to be a Lutheran.
But not us. Your father and I are fun-loving, sun-bathing exhibitionist hotties like you, and we want you to feel proud of your body. But your father tells me you’ve been riding a little light around town, letting your Johnson hang free and your Jimmies swing low, so to speak. Your father’s words, not mine.
Frankly, son, it reminds me of me when I was your age. Lord knows, I used to spend weeks at a time with nothing on but a pair of snow-white New Balance sneakers and a WWJD bracelet. But don’t hold it against me, I also used to be a Lutheran.
What I’m trying to say is, we love your body and shameless exhibitionism. But sometimes shirts and shoes and pants are ideal. The folks at the Giant aren’t quite as cosmopolitan as the ones in this household, and sometimes you make people jealous with your body positivity and your confidence and your fastidious personal grooming.
One thing to try is wearing something revealing, yet tasteful. Consider a loose-weave form-fitting mesh top like your mother wears, or perhaps one of your father’s jocks. I like to wear corsets at work, myself, though mind you wear them loose enough you don’t turn blue. And always pick a safe word. Mine is “hakuna matata.” You heard it here first. Your father and I love you very much.
Now I think what we really need to talk about is your drinking. Your parole officer and I were talking the other day, and we have some concerns about your alcohol consumption. Frankly, we think you’re going a bit soft. Now you know the officer and I love you very much, and we’ve always been impressed by your high-capacity near-death tolerance. Once upon a time you could hold your liquor just as well as the officer or me or your father.
Never as well as your mother, of course, but she comes from a long line of competitive drinkers, and most of them were Lutherans and all of them were huge, so we don’t hold it against you.
You never know what you’ll find when you fumble around, and who doesn’t love a good expedition?
What I’m trying to say is, you’re not in your late-twenties anymore. You need to push yourself a bit or people will think you’re just not that cool anymore. Try focusing on your lackluster personal life, or on that nagging sense of disappearing youth, and before you know it you’ll be tossing them back like a man with a sack, so to speak. Your parole officer’s words, not mine.
You can also try a little family secret, that if you clench real tight and keep a lozenge under your tongue, you can drink for a full four minutes without a breath. That little move was what attracted me to your mother. And remember: tonic is high in sugar, so put some soda in your gin, or watch your belly swell within! You heard it here first. The officer and I love you very much.
Now lastly, son, I think we need to talk about your love life. This one’s a little hard to discuss; you know I’ve never been one to talk about the sexy stuff. That’s why we gave you all those DVDs when you were in your 20s. Maybe you were too focused on your dioramas, or maybe you were more into the kinky stuff, who knows. Parenting is hard.
But I was talking with your lovers the other day, and we have some concerns. They tell me you’re passionate in bed, and very courteous and respectful, which is great. But they tell me sometimes you’re a touch overly dramatic with the mood, and that you always insist on blasting “My Heart Will Go On” and climaxing at the chorus.
Now son, you know I’m as aroused as the next man by a soulful power diva — just look at your mother — but Céline isn’t everyone’s thing, and your lovers would appreciate a change in atmosphere. Consider some rhythmic classics like “Take It Like A Man” or “I’m Every Woman” or “Hakuna Matata.” Fun fact, you were conceived to that last one. What I’m trying to say is, I really enjoy making love to these songs, and I think you will, too.
And while you’re changing things up, consider some new moves. Try finding a new diddle to tickle, or a new nub to tug, so to speak. Your lovers’ requests, not mine. You never know what you’ll find when you fumble around, and who doesn’t love a good expedition?
Look, I don’t want to go into specifics, but I’ve put together a long list of specifics. I’ve written them on the back of this letter and I’ve added some diagrams and step-by-steps where helpful. Fun fact, Figure 42 was how you were conceived. Hakuna matata!
Most important, son, remember to pace yourself. I know it’s easy to get worked up by the heat of a rousing refrain, but you’ve got to see it through to the end if you’re going to keep your lovers coming back. (Get it? I know, I know, dad joke!)
One thing I like to try is counting backwards from 100 by 3s; if you can make it past 88 you’ve outlasted me in both stamina and mathematics. And always remember, it’s not about the size of the wave, but the motion and the ocean! My words, not yours.
Your mother and father and lovers and I love you very much.