Where the hell did that come from? :eek:
Me.
And, Peyote Coyote, you might be glad to know that I am a thoroughly thoughtful daughter, and wouldn’t even think of giving such a gift without the wherewithal to christen it properly. 
Good lord, I’m such a square. I:
a) have never even heard of a head shop and
b) wouldn’t even know if I was in one.
… And all i am getting my pop are some cd’s, which he will pick out.
my family is hard to shop for, you know?
Another eighth and a card: how depressing. No thought or personality.
A bong: Pick one with personality and show him that you really care.
That’s my boy! I didn’t even know I’d had him yet.
Fatherhood is a series of indignities borne with varying degress of grace. Father’s Day is different only in knowing exactly when it will happen.
All fathers know that Mother’s Day is the one that really counts, the Father’s Day is a condescension from Womankind, who regard us universally as incompetent, irrelevant, or cluelessly cute in our fumbling attempts to Do Stuff.
If we had any dignity, we wouldn’t stand for it. But we gave all that up when we started wearing baby urp for cologne, and hot young cuties started calling us “sir”.
So take the collect call, the tie, the golf balls. Take 'em like a man, and shut up about it. After all, who else you gonna love?
I smoked a doobie with my dad on Father’s Day. He’s 72.