Father-Son Moment of the Day: In its latest round of housecleaning, CBS canceled its promising, yet ultimately banal sitcom $h*! My Dad Says. Justin Halpern, the comedy writer whose dad’s mercurial musings formed the basis for the novelty Twitter account upon which the show is based, broke the news to his dad over the phone.
Their conversation offers perhaps the most honest explanation for why the show was ultimately canceled: It may have been a decent show, but compared to the things Justin’s dad actually says, it was sh*t.
So yesterday the TV show based off the twitter feed, and my book, Shit My Dad Says, was cancelled. I worked on the show for the last year. It was a bummer, until I remembered that I got a TV show based off a twitter feed and a book and was basically the luckiest asshole who ever roamed this earth. Anyway, I decided I should call my dad to give him the news.
“Hey. What do you need. I’m busy,” he said.
“Do you have a second?” I said.
“Is this Justin?” he said.
“Yeah. Who’d you think it was?“
“Didn’t know. Just picked up the phone.”
“You didn’t know who it was and you answered the phone with ‘Hey. What do you need? I’m busy?,” I asked.
“Let’s people know not to f*ck around with my time,” he said.
“My show got cancelled,” I said.
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line and I wasn’t sure if he heard me. I was about to say it again, when he spoke.
“Well. F*ck. Sorry to hear that, son.”
“Eh, it’s okay. It happens. It was crazy I got a show on the air in the first place.”
“Well, I liked it. It was kind of sh*tty at first, but I thought it got a lot better. You know what show I like? Cheers. That was a good show,” he said.
“That was a good show,” I said, wondering if that was part of a larger point he was about to make.
“Also I liked The Simpsons. At first I thought, it’s just a stupid cartoon for pants-sh*tters, but I was wrong, great show.” (Pants-sh*tters is how my dad refers to toddlers.)
“Well, I just wanted to let you know. I know you’re busy so I’ll let you go,” I said.
“I‘m 75. If you’re busy when you’re seventy five, you f*cked up the first seventy five years. I want you to know that I’m proud of you. You didn’t put a bullet through Bin Laden but I’m proud of you. You’re a bust-ass kid.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“And let’s not forget the big picture here. You don’t have to live with me anymore. One less person crawling up your ass every morning. That’s all anyone can f*cking ask for.”