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My Daughter Belongs In a Mental Home


by Smiley McGrouchpants


               She won't answer my knock.  I'm getting very worried about her.  “Samantha!  Your show's on!”  It's 8:30, it's her favorite.  No answer.  I try pulling at the knob — it's locked.  Goddamit, I think, I should've gotten divorced years ago and moved to the city and gotten a job and a place of my own.  “SA—MANTHA!”  That should do it.  She'd probably hear me now.  Let her decide for herself — the VCR's taping Eddie's baseball game, anyway, so, once this opportunity's lost, it's gone for good.
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