Fighting Dad's not a fight. Fighting dad is, "Hi, you've just instigated your own mugging! Come on down!"

I swore I would never get involved in my dad's life. But then he started blowing it. So I had to get involved, you know, but he's my dad, I can't send him to his room or ground him or go to his first grade play and scream, "Look at the fairy!" I was a wood nymph.

So what if your custom car shop tanks and you've gotta take a crappy job at an auto parts store, dealing with ignorant, pushy people. I'm okay with that, 'cause I'm an ignorant, pushy people person.

Growing up, road trips with Dad were something I hated. Sitting still for hours, singing that stupid song, "100 bottles of beer on the wall. 100 bottles of beer..." Dad, you know, keeping up with the song.

Satan called - he's changed the sheets, fluffed the pillows and laid out the complimentary chocolate. Hell is ready for John Edwards.

My parents' divorce settlement involved a bar tab.

My father was on the Alcoholics Anonymous wishlist. My mother was on... parole. And lithium.