with the seed of this man.
The Papster, daddy-o, Dickie-doo, Pappy Rat, ole man Hefner,that long haired ukulele-playing hippie,
that banjo-picking, ice cream eating-contest-winning,
hybrid-driving, diet-trying,
kitty cat-loving, grammar-correcting
legend of a man.
They say you took the diaper money to buy guitar strings--
we say it's a lie!
They say you threw the keys down the mountain--
we say it's a lie!
They say you ate Burger King sausage one day after becoming a vegetarian--
we say it's a lie!
The man, the myth, the Papster!!!
Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.
3 comments:
Haha... Ouch! Where'd that come from?? Quite the rude awakening first thing in the morning on my birthday. I seemed to be doing my best Michael Landon impersonation in that photo. At least you picked that one and not a new one. In my pictures taken recently I look more like Gabby Hayes.
Happy Birthday, PappyRat...sorry I don't have a blog to give you a tribute...but I love you none the less...Joe
Hey Nicole... You added the poem after my initial comment. It's great, and I agree they're all lies (for the most part), especially the one about buying guitar strings instead of diapers. We mostly used the cloth kind -- the ones I personally got to dunk in cold toilet water until they came out snowy white, or at least less brown than they started out.
And Joe, I appreciate the sentiment and I know you would give me my due respect if you had a blog. Keep in mind that your blog comment here does not preclude a phone call sometime today to yours truly, mostly so I can yell at you for no longer having a blog! Just kiddin' but give me a call anyway.
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