FAKE NEWS! LIBERAL MEDIA! UNFAIR!
What my Native American Cisgender Autistic Son Traveled Back in Time to Tell me
The hot stays hot and the cool stays cool
“Hello Hogan, I am your future son. I have traveled back through time to tell you something.” Proclaimed my son.
“Wait, future? You mean a parallel dimension or alternate universe right?”
“No, from the future.”
“So I get laid again? Dope. Been a while. I was beginning to worry. So, how am I? How did my screenplay come out? Do I still have hair?”
“I don’t know. Mom said you left before I was born.”
“Okay, yeah. That sounds like me alright. So… What’s up? You need money? Here. I have 18 dollars. That’s all you. You said something about a message?”
“You have a son.” Explained my son.
“So you claim. Dope. Anything else?”
“No. The title states I tell you something and I did so I’m good. I’m not sure why you fleshed it out. This thing you’re doing is nonsense. You know, you’re a terrible person for doing this to these poor people.”
“These are all free. I’m doing something different and entertaining. It’s getting more eyes on my work.”
“Why the hell am I Native American, Cisgender. and Autistic? You know this is click-bait.” My son pontificated.
“Yes, but in a way over the top way. Relax, it’s a joke and I got one more I just thought of that gives this a satisfying conclusion. Ask me if I want to ask you anymore questions.”
“Why didn’t you just ask the question right then?”
“Because I lied. I actually have four jokes left in me while chekhov’s gunning making you autistic. That was the first one. Ask me!”
“Whatever. Do you want to ask me anymore Questions?” Queefed my son.
“Who wins the election, World Series, Super Bowl, Stanley Cup, and NBA championship every year from now till then?”
We fly to Vegas. I check us into a room at the Super 8 in Henderson.
My autistic kid is obsessed with baseball stats and knows not only who wins but the final score of every game.
I bet big. I collect racks of cash.
We get a Suite at the Winn with what I won and I get a sex worker with my winnings. When I was done I asked my future son if he wanted to hit the drive-thru at Arby’s.
The kid goes, “Don’t be gross, that’s my mom.”
