HOBOKEN, NEVADA — Chad and Beverly Thompson just want to see even a modicum of respect and thankfulness from their four kids — Bethany, Chad Jr, Gidget, and Mitch — but, frankly, they’re starting to lose hope that’ll ever happen.
“It’s like they don’t even grasp sometimes the wonderful gift we’ve given them,” Chad says as he sips on a glass of wine. “The gift of life. The gift of a fleeting, worthless existence that’s over before you really get a chance to settle in and figure out how to do it. The one that ends and by your final moments feels like a blink. The one where you realize you’re just an insignificant cosmic cumshot, really, at the end of it all.”
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Beverly gave a quiet, “Amen,” as she sipped her own glass of wine and bit into her cannabis edible.
“Exactly, it’s like, I don’t expect them to thank me every day for getting up and going to work a job at a company that doesn’t care about whether I live or die, just that I meet my quota,” Beverly said. “But can’t they at least stop and think about how it was our love, and our lovemaking, frankly, that literally breathed the life into their lungs, and that it was Chad and me who put them on this planet in a body that would one day fail them, rot, and decay, giving way so that some other mouth-breathing fuckwit could take their place and do it all again, but you know, maybe different, but probably not all that different?”
Chad blames mostly himself for his children’s “cavalier ambivalence” to the fact that he and Beverly “saddled them with a mortal existence” that will feel too short and ultimately leave them dying alone.
“I was raised in a southern baptist home, and I had a lot of ‘honor thy mother and father’ bullshit crammed down my gullet,” Chad told us. “So when my kids were born, I probably overcompensated by not at least asking for a baseline level of acknowledgment from that that their entire pointless, and likely fruitless, lives were thanks to me. Shame on me, really, at the end of the day.”
Beverly also blames Chad, but not for his upbringing.
“I mean, look, I love my husband, okay? You could argue, pretty convincingly, I’m a loving, supportive wife,” Beverly said, “but Chad’s become such an overt nihilist that I think sometimes he doesn’t realize how much it permeates what he says. He’s constantly talking about how worthless or pointless things are. I don’t think we go a week without him telling us all there’s no meaning in anything we do, other than what we make of it. So, it only stands to reason that our kids have already figured out that they don’t owe us anything because we basically saddled them with the gift of life that will end for them in some lonely, maybe even painful way.”
When we asked 14 year old Bethany for her thoughts on the subject, she shrugged her shoulders. When we tried to ask her again, she rolled her eyes. Finally, after the third attempt to engage Bethany, she agreed to answer our question.
“Meh,” Bethany said. “I mean…I love my parents. They’re cool enough, I guess. I just, you know, don’t think it matters how much we bow and scrape and thank them for giving us this fleeting, worthless existence of ours, in the end. We’re all gonna die one day, anyway.”
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Writer/comedian James Schlarmann is the founder of The Political Garbage Chute and his work has been featured on The Huffington Post. You can follow James on Facebook, Spotify, and Instagram, but not Twitter because Twitter is a cesspool.
