by 
Open Letter to My Father:
Maybe it’s you up there in the sky shining like a star, looking down on me from the heavens. Maybe it’s you, that wild spirit animal drifting across the sky like a buffalo — free and joyous. Maybe it’s you, that bum under the portico of the library, spirit dwindling, gums falling out like pancake batter with walnuts and bananas in it. Or maybe it’s you, bearskin rug-chested man, celebrating your 64th birthday by wiping your mustache on a baller-ass cordless phone while standing all stoic in the surf. Man, I hope it’s that last one. Fuck a shining star. Shit is gay.
by 
I’m no telephone historian, but that looks suspiciously like an unplugged trimline phone.
Hope you find your daddy. Maybe this will help…
http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/w/leanna-wilson/are-you-my-daddy.htm
I thought ODB was your daddy..and that made us brothers. Well, probably half brothers
That’s not gay. That’s Magnum P.I.
i knuh. that’s what i’m sayin’. shining stars are gay. and phones without cords in them are not cellphones, they’re baller.
“Higgins, where are the keys to the Ferrari? I’ve got to pick up Snakey at the day care!”
ugly yeti – that book is a dream come true. heaven sent. gosh. so many hunks, so little time.
You make my eyes cry water of joy.