Mark Colomb

Videos, Podcasts, and Junk

Date: April 8, 2013

A Letter From the Child of a Libertarian

Dear Father,

It is with a heavy and tired heart that I am writing you this letter. As my twelfth birthday is approaching I have decided to take leave of you and our home. Initially you were a kind and caring father. I feel that the last few years since you have taken declared yourself a libertarian have ripped our family apart. Though I have no quarrel with the idea of libertarianism in theory, in practice it has made you a very shitty father. You need to apply your (and let’s be honest Glenn Beck’s and Ayn Rand’s) beliefs to the raising of your children has been misguided at best and most likely illegal at worst.

I remember around my tenth birthday when you began to treat us differently. You told my that if I wanted a present I would have to go out and work for it. No free lunches you said let alone a free Playstation. I tried to explain that I was ten and that getting full time employment was not only difficult it was illegal. But you told me I didn’t need to pay head to the laws of an tyrannical government. You kept saying the government was our biggest threat. I just wanted a birthday present father. That if I wanted to work I should go out and work. I was but a ten year old father. I often thought that your switch to libertarianism was mostly about you being cheap. I couldn’t help but notice that it happened shortly after you lost your job.

As my eleventh birthday neared I mentioned to you that my arm hurt after I fell out of a tree. You said that I should set it myself. That I shouldn’t rely on the false prophets of medicine to look after it. You said that the thing to do wasn’t to be scared but to use this experience to learn. Father I assure you I knew that falling out of tree was not something I every wanted  to do before I did it. You should have taken me to the hospital. Though my arm has healed slightly it is still misshapen and I have trouble holding a pencil.

Later in that same year you stopped making us dinner after mother left. You wanted us to learn to find food and cook for ourselves. Where were we meant to find food father? We live in the middle of Detroit. It was the dead of winter, were we meant to steal from the 7/11? Father your need to impart your rather extreme and naive political views on us is had gone too far. I never asked to be born father but I do believe it is your responsibility to raise us and look after us till at least the age of 18. And, yes before you scream it to no one in particular I imagine you find the idea of the government dictating an age of adulthood absurd. But guess what father even when you don’t agree with a law it is still a law.

Do you have any idea how silly your libertarian views seem? What is it exactly that you believe father? That everyone should fend for themselves. Well good luck paving your own road father. I look forward to reading in your self published newspaper how you put out the fire that had engulfed your home and arrested the arsonist that set it. I do happen to wonder father, are you still collecting unemployment and disability? I would hate to think that you were because if the government was just giving you money it had collected from someone else what would would you call that? I guess it might rhyme with mocialism. Fare well father. I tire of you and your silly views and will take my chances on the road. I hope to become a marine biologist and spend my days with dolphins I hear that they take care of their own.

Your Son,


A Letter From Your Dog

Hey Scott,

It’s me. Chewie your dog. First off thanks for rescuing me. You have no idea what life was like at the shelter. I fought a three legged Chihuahua over a blanket, things were tough Scott. So first off. Yea, thanks. Now that we got that out of the way I have few complaints about our current living situation.

We live in an apartment Scott. A studio apartment on the third floor. Why did you get a 70 pound dog when you don’t have a bed? I know I am only a mutt just a year removed from the streets but even I know that your priorities are out of whack. Seriously. There isn’t enough room on your inflatable mattress for both of us. Not to mention the thing deflates over the course of the night so by the morning you and I are both asleep on a rubber mat on the cold ass floor. Scott I’m a dog but I’m not an animal.

The food situation. Look buddy. I like burritos and I know you like burritos but we can’t eat burritos all the time. And your dumb ass acts like it’s some kind off mystery that you have hemorrhoids. You eat nothing but taco bell and sit on the toilet like it’s a lazy-boy. By the way. You don’t have money for a bed but you somehow found the money to buy a leather recliner and a plasma tv? Scott your Dad is right you’re a fucking idiot. Back to the food. Would it kill you to get me some wet food? Maybe mix it with some dry? You spend $120 dollars a week on weed but you never seem to have enough money to buy me pet food. Come on Scott.

Oh, and the amount of weed you smoke is a little over the top. If I have to fall asleep to either planet earth on blu-ray or The Undertaker 20-0 on netflix one more night I’m going lose my walnut sized mind. Scott you’re 29 you can’t smoke weed from the second you get up to the second you go to bed. Look man, if I worked as a bartender at the Buffalo Wild Wings by Depaul I would want to check out as well but you got to get it together. Did you ever think that maybe the weed is what is causing a lot of your problems? You’re smoking away your ambition.

Also on the weed tip. STOP BLOWING SMOKE IN MY FACE. I’m straight edge Scott, 4 Life, like my man CM Punk. I don’t like getting high Scott. It’s not funny. I got things I want to do with my life and getting stoned and eating a DiGiorno at 2AM isn’t one of those things. Don’t drag me down with you. Also, would it kill you to clean the oven? That oven is the only thing in the apartment that smokes more than you.

On to other things. Scott you have to break up with Karen. First off she’s younger than some of your socks. She’s a child Scott, a child. She is going to turn 20 some day and realize you are completely full of shit. I shouldn’t complain too much at least she walks me. As much as we would both like it to happen I am never going to shit in the toilet. You have to take me out. I thought the whole reason you got me was so you could parade me around the neighborhood purporting to be the kind of person that is responsible enough for a dog.

Scott I like you and I don’t want to complain too much. But if we are going to keep living together you have to change. Like I said before I can’t thank you enough for saving my life. But that doesn’t mean you get to waste it. You’re a smart dude and I think if you got some shitty job today in a couple of years you could rise to middle management. Maybe we could get a house somewhere with a yard. I could spend my days outside and you could meet someone and settle down. Maybe have a couple of kids that you would ignore while you snuck off to the shed to get stoned? I hope that letter gets through to you Scott. I love you man.


P.S. I know how to use your computer.

P.S.S. I can type. I can’t talk though. I’m like a four legged Roger Ebert.

P.S.S.S. Too Soon? I shouldn’t have made that joke. I love that man. He did so much for the art of criticism.

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