You might not expect the Craigslist sale of a 1998 Ford Explorer to garner much attention, never mind ending up on local newscasts from Seattle to Arkansas, but that’s what happened to a Florida man last week. The reason for all of the attention isn’t the truck itself, but the message that Allan Gieger, who many online are calling “father of the year,” was trying to send with the posting.
“I have my sons [sic] truck up for sale that I bought for him as his first car, he thinks it’s cool to drive around with his friends smokin dope and acting all thug and especially not showing me and my wife the respect that we deserve,” Gieger wrote in the posting on Tuesday of last week.
Selling a 2004 scion tc that I bought for my my Large Adult Son, because he wont stop smoking “dope” in it and acting like a “thuggish person. me and my wife Chantelle Precious Annybelle have ben trying to install Adult Life Lessons to our son, Jamaycia, ever since we fosterd him at the age of 15, but he does not Listen to us. My son thinks it is cool to to drive around with his friends imbibing the devil’s lettuce (in this VARY CAR that I purcheesed him, with my hard-earned kitchen tile money!) and especially not showing me and my wife the respect that we deserve. and that is a Shame. His friends are bad inflences. Why just the other day We caught Jamaycia sneaking out in the middle of the night to go join his friends, Jannephur and Shayriente, and he said they are only going to see the new Comic book Movie, but we know better! WE KNOW BETTER. We bought him this beauteful new 2004 scion because we thought it would make him, our beloved Adult Son who is 23 years of age, as the Lord shines his light on him, to get out from under our recently remodeled attic bedroom and to go find a mean of gainsful employment. I bought him this fine and reliable automobile to hope that he would go visit the Home Depot or TGI Fridays or Hobby Lobby to find a meaningful job like he had never had before, one that could install character. I remember how excited he was when he came to the kitchen table, where Chantelle Precious had just cooked up our famous grits and onion salsa, and i had circled about fiftyn copies of The Autotrader on our kitchen table, and he finally said to us: “my father, dearest father, I cannot believe that I will finally experience the exlated high that is of owning and operating a motor-car! I cannot tank you enough, Father. I am truly blessed to grow up within this tax bracket, and to thrive under your labors, as they were, and to someday become as great as you, Midlevel Senior Manager of the Tri-State Area’s largeset cutom kitchen tile retailer, and to go to college for free and afford a house in my twenties and also work a tireless job like you have for the past 45 years without complaint or pleasure and to consider that ‘work ethic.”’
But—and I should have known—it was to no avail. A week later, his pants still sagged. He still employed filth-ridden words within the sanctuary of our own home, words such as, “homie’ and “bro” and “screw”. Get this: he was NOT talking about hardware!!! I couldnt get him to make eye contact with me whenever we were cleaning the iron lung of Mr. Pickles, our asthmatic terrier, which was a ritual we used to laugh and giggle at whenever we tickled Mr. Pickles, as father and son,, bonded by an invalid pet, the truest bond there was. But no. I cry when I think of Mr. Pickles writhing around in his custom-designed immobility harness, knowing that Jamayica is too buy coming in the house at three in the morning smelling like the reefer madness of a drugged-out beatnik, eyes dry and read and the vacant stare of a public masturbetor, talking back to us wheneever we ask him to do simple chores like clean Mr. Pickles’ colostomy bag. Why, just the other day he told me and my lovely wife Chantrelle Precious to stick my h___ in a v__ of f____!
It panes me to even type those words.
No, I am an man enough to admit where I want wrong. I did not expect my on to forsake me so—to ignore my kind gesdture, and to stay in his room playing the electronic gaming systems from sunup to sundown! He did not even glance out the window to look at his beautiful new machine— knowing full wellthat he had the means that any other young man his age could only dream of. This “Psion” product may be a Asian car, yes, forgive me lord for I have given in to my Enemies of this country, but it is a relliable beautful sports car that will get all of the female persuasion, had it be me in my son’s age than poor, sensitive Jamaycia. Why, I remember when I was his age, and I snuck out in the middle of the night to take my father’s Ferd Tondebeurre (a REAL sports car- out to go necking with Mary Lou Simms at Lover’s Leap, and yes certain drugs may have been involved, namely whizzers and alphas and dopies, whatever—but it was different back then: I sure wasn’t a “ganja fiend” or a “junky”! I never publishhed a book of poetry. I never wrote an acclaimed novel in a drug-induced haze on a road trip across the country. I never wore a beret or affected a Continental fashion: After all, I brought a lot of women to Lover’s Leap, certainly more than my Large Adult Son has at this stage in his life. Not a single one of those was a well-dressed, salivating Adonis in tight blue jeans that accentuated his buttocks as he leaned seductively against a jukebox playing Don Henley’s solo career. No, sir.
I tried to install the Adult Life Lesson that my own father, Pop-Pops, once installed in me. He once caught me injesting a whole Mary Jay in the garden shed during one of his many rheumatic naps. oh, the whipping I did receive at his rough hand. Oh, the bruiseing. But that night, after he spanked me for the 15th time atop the ottoman, I looked at him through my tear-stained eyes as he said, ,”son, you know that I love you, and I will always stand up for you when your right. But when your rong, and if you slip up, like partaking in the giggle smoke, or cavorting with hippies, or treating a minotiry like a Real and Actual Person, or forgetting what made you young and joyful and kind and forgiving in the first place, I will be the first one there in your face to tell you to make it right.
Those words have stuck with me for a little over a half-century. And it is with great shame in my tear-stained eyes that I must put my Adult Son’s 2004 Scion tC on this here web forum (I am not so good with the computer). this scion has a four-cylinder engine that is good on gass and it is good pickup and has great at gas mileage. can turn all the heads with it’s sporty looks! 120,000 miles, salvage title. Kustom tailights, 4-speed manuel, hatch handel missing. no lowballers.