Well you see, when I was a kid, I just loved those “Weekend At Bernie’s” films. I used to lie awake at night and wish that Bernie would come over to my house, and I could party with him. So on my birthday, sure enough, up saunters a man almost identical to my hero—right down to the two goons carrying him about. So we partied for a while, and Bernie leaned to me and said, “Happy birthday, Josh.” That’s when I knew something was amiss.
Miffed, I took the knife we had used to cut the cake, and stabbed Bernie in the chest—you know, to make sure it was really him. To my surprise, he started screaming and bleeding excessively.
To answer your question, yeah, I miss my father.
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