My dad, by all accounts, is a great dad. He knows how to work on cars, loves war documentaries, and has perfectly corny dad jokes (I recently told him I saw a Bald Eagle in the wild and he told me, without missing a beat, to ask if its head

  Howdy, brokesters… apologies for the lack of TBC musings as of late. Happy new year and shit. If you follow me on Twitter/are stalking me in real life, you know that I spent the holiday season getting blotto in my beloved home state of Wisconsin. Yes, America’s darling Dairyland. Land

Recently, I plopped down onto my couch to watch the Martin Scorcese documentary about vintage babe George Harrison, titled George Harrison: Living in the Material World.  I noticed two things, the first of which being that my dad looks scarily like Eric Clapton: