Today is Father’s Day. It’s one of the greatest of all American holidays (way better than Labor Day, which is basically Communist Day in disguise), and it’s usually my second or third favorite day of the year.
I say “usually” because, this year, my Father’s Day was ruined before it even ended, snatched out of my hands by the lewdness and immorality poisoning this once-great nation.
Let me explain: This morning, after waking up and collecting my gifts, I headed off to the local golf course (I needed some alone time, you know? Kids can be so annoying). It was a beautiful day, and my swing was on fire, but I soon realized there was obscenity afoot. On the fifth hole, I noticed a group of people waiting behind me. They seemed to be out celebrating another Father’s day, like me, and as long as they stayed patient (I take my time on the greens, as is my American right), I was happy to have them there.
But, on closer inspection, I realized that the group behind me wasn’t exactly what I had thought. It was what some people nowadays insist on calling a “family”: a couple kids and their parents. All fine—but in this case, the “parents” were two men.
That’s right: Gays.
My first reaction was to puke on my Allen Edmonds (thank God they’re leather!). My second reaction was one of pure, god-fearing outrage. Here it is, I thought. Another hallowed, American-male rite of passage, stolen away and degraded by the homosexuals.
That’s when I knew I had to speak up. As I’ve said before, the current “pro-gay marriage” fad will eventually result in us losing our First Amendment rights—so I decided to tell it like it is… while I still can.
Brothers and sisters: I’m an American (and only an American now). Here, in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, we men love women—or we don’t love at all. That’s simply how it is, and if you don’t like it… well, I heard France is kind of nice.
Father’s Day should be the most masculine day of the year. I should be able to drink a Coors, grill some hamburgers and think about the children I made using only the bratwurst between my legs and the miracle of reproduction God gave us.
But no—instead I’m forced to watch as these other, so-called “men,” who for all I know have never been within three feet of a uterus, prance around and pretend to be fathers. You’ve seen these guys: They act like waltzing into an adoption agency and saying, “Can I have a baby please?” makes them a daddy. And the worst part? People play along with it. They give them gifts and congratulate them on their “fatherhood,” and even “their” kids are convinced! They say, “Nice shot Dad!” and “Hey Pops, why is that guy staring at us?” and never even recognize how wrong their words are, or understand how they’re being corrupted by sinful, puke-worthy lifestyles of the men acting like their parents.
One of my kids—can’t remember her name off the top of my head—one time asked me if things had to be this way. “Do gay men have to be gay?” she asked, and I heard the sorrow and disgust in her little voice. “No!” I told her. “We can make this a better world!” And I truly do believe that.
That’s why I recently sponsored legislation that would fight gay marriage, and therefore protect fatherhood from the encroachment of homosexuals. And that’s why the Republican Party in my home state of Texas is bravely fighting for the right to cure gays of their affliction. Reparative Therapy—what we like to call “beatin’ the gay out”—is the only way we’ll convince gays that, if they want to be a father, they have to do it the hard way: through married, godly, heterosexual intercourse.
Until then, I have some advice for my fellow, natural fathers: This time next year, if you want to honor Father’s Day, you must spend those 24 hours fighting to keep fatherhood pure. Go out and place “Ted Cruz ’16” on all your neighbors’ lawns. That, at least, will be a very good start.