Your name is Alejandro, motherfucker! But, you call yourself, Alex! It makes me fucking sick. You're pretending to be something you're not, and it makes me so ashamed of you! You forced me to cut my hair when I was 6-years-old, and I told you I would never forgive you for that, and you just treated me like I was being a stupid little kid. Well, guess what you literal motherfucker?!?!?!? I still haven't forgiven you for that! Nor will I ever! How fucking dare you?!?!?! To force somebody to cut their hair. That's preposterous. Some guys like having short hair. Some girls like it too. And, that's fine. But, I don't! I never have! They gave me such a hard time about it in elementary school. And, I always refused to stand for the pledge of allegiance, and I still do that at Dodgers games, but whatever. Nobody fucking cares. I live in the not-giving-a-shit capital of the world for a reason. Well, actually, to be honest, I just show up late. Whatever, go Dodgers! and go Houston Assholes and go the imaginary team that I believe to exist in Austin! And, we went to San Francisco once on the BART, and we were walking around, and we went to Tower Records over there, and you told me to pick out a record, "whatever I wanted", and I picked out a Slayer record, and you and your bullshit evil Christian wife insisted on reading the lyrics, and right there, at the BART station, you publicly threw out the record in the fucking garbage. Right in front of a bunch of people. Knowing full well that once I got back to Texas, I would just buy that exact same record. You eat shit, dad. But, then again, let me put myself in her shoes, I mean his, but it's really her's. If I ever had a son or daughter (which I won't because of my vasectomy), and I took them to the record store, and they picked out some christian bullshit, I would throw that shit in the garbage so quick. I would break it into a million pieces, take a shit on it, invite strangers to vomit on it, spit on it one last time, throw it in a dumpster, soak it in gasoline, and light it on fire. What the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah, that's right. You eat shit, dad.