Sh*t My Dad Says Read Online Free Page A

Manhattan.”
    On Getting a Dog
    “Who’s going to take care of it? You?…Son, you came in the house yesterday with shit on your hands. Human shit. I don’t know how that happened, but if someone has shit on their hands, it’s an indicator that maybe the whole responsibility thing isn’t for them.”
    On Showering with Regularity
    “You’re ten years old now, you have to take a shower every day…. I don’t give a shit if you hate it. People hate smelly fuckers. I will not have a smelly fucker for a son.”
    On LEGOs
    “Listen, I don’t want to stifle your creativity, but that thing you built there, it looks like a pile of shit.”
    On Bring-Your-Dad-to-School Day
    “Who are all these fucking parents who can take a day off? If I’m taking a day off, I ain’t gonna spend it sitting at some tiny desk with a bunch of eleven-year-olds.”
    On My Sixth-Grade Parent-Teacher Conference
    “I don’t think that teacher likes you, so I don’t like her. You ding off more shit than a pinball, but goddamn it, you’re a good kid. She can go fuck herself.”
    On My First School Dance
    “Are you wearing perfume?…Son, there ain’t any cologne in this house, only your mother’s perfume. I know that scent, and let me tell you, it’s disturbing to smell your wife on your thirteen-year-old son.”
    On Being Afraid to Use the Elementary School Bathrooms to Defecate
    “Son, you’re complaining to the wrong man. I can shit anywhere, at any time. It’s one of my finer qualities. Some might say my finest.”
    On My Last-Place Finish in the 50-Yard Dash During Little League Tryouts
    “It kinda looked like you were being attacked by a bunch of bees or something. Then when I saw the fat kid with the watch who was timing you start laughing…. Well, I’ll just say it’s never a good sign when a fat kid laughs at you.”

Do Not Be a Goddamned Liar
    “You have shamed the entire scientific community. Fucking Einstein, everybody.”

    I’ve never been very good at math or science. I enjoyed the stories embedded in history and literature but lost interest when it came to periodic functions and the table of elements. So in sixth grade, when each member of my class was responsible for creating an experiment to show at the school’s science fair in late April, I felt about as excited as I’d feel today if I were told I had to attend a live reenactment of the entire first season of Grey’s Anatomy . My dad, on the other hand, was thrilled. He had spent the past twenty-five years performing medical and scientific research.
    “Now you can get a glimpse into what my life is like every goddamned day,” he told me the night I received my assignment. “I’m going to be on your ass every step of the way. You will have the greatest science experiment that school has ever seen, or you will fucking die trying.”
    “Will you do it with me?” I pleaded.
    “What? No, I already do it all the goddamned day on my own. That’s what I just told you.”
    He took a seat on our living room couch and motioned for me to take a seat next to him.
    “Now, experiments start with a question. What do you want to know?”
    I thought about it for a few seconds.
    “I think the dog is cool,” I said, motioning toward Brownie, our five-year-old chocolate Lab mix.
    “What? What the hell does that mean? That’s not a fucking question.”
    “What if I said: Do people think the dog is cool?”
    “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Think of a question like Do larger objects fall faster than smaller ones? Something like that.”
    “Okay. Well, can the question be something about the dog?”
    “It can be about whatever the fuck you want. Okay, you’re stuck on shit with the dog, so how about this: Can dogs recognize shapes? How does that sound?”
    It sounded good. I loved Brownie, so I was glad he could be part of my experiment. My dad helped me outline exactly how the experiment would work. Basically, every day I would hold up