I have made the discovery that my lovely daughter Alyssa is dating a Bosh man.

Well anyway, I was out at the bar, date raping some girls, and then I went out to the park to do some regular rape amongst the bushes. Then I went home and beat my wife for not cooking my dinner on time. Then she said that it WAS cooked on time, so I beat her again for correcting me in front of my dinner.

So then, my daughter comes into the room, and says, "Daddy! Quit beating mom, this is serious!"

"Bugger that, I'll beat off what I want!" says I. I shook my wife again and she squeaked, biting me with her massive front teeth.

"Stop beating off! I have a boyfriend!" she says.

Now I was surprised. "Alyssa, for gino's sake," says I. "I'm very proud of you."

I let go of her mother's hair, and she scurried off into her cage. I stood in front of my daughter, and says, "Who is he?"

"He's pretty Bosh."

"WHAT THE FUCK?" I screamed, tearing out my hair. "There's blacks down the street, Jews next door, gays across the road, a bloody German behind us, and you're telling me you're shacking up with a Bosh man?"

"Oh, fuck right off with you, you're not even my real father," she says.

"Well, I'm not even your real father!" I retorted. "So there."

Anyway, my daughter brings the Bosh man home for dinner. I'm sitting brooding in my favorite armchair, thinking about how cool it would be to stretch out my anus, and feeding my wife some of her nutrient water. She was scurrying around the cage when my daughter came in with the Bosh man.

"Hi, my name is Dudethat'sbosh!" he said, coming in and shaking my hand. I was dressed in my best undershirt and boxers to impress him.

"Golly!" Boshman said, firmly grasping my hand. "You look nice!"

"Thanks, you look like a fucking faggot!" I replied in a friendly tone. "Do you want to come in for dinner? I'm serving guinea pig shit."

"Dude, guinea pig shit?" Boshman said, lighting up four cigarettes at once. "Fuckin' A. When do we eat?"

I walked over to my wife's cage and scooped up some of her doo-doo feces. I shook the cage a few times for good measure, and she squealed a bit. I poked her in the special place, and she rolled over on her back and squeaked in pleasure.

"Bosh!" the Boshman said.

"Weet!" I agreed. "It's Sweet, with the s dropped off."

"Dude, this house is weet as hell," Boshman said. "I second the motion of weetness, and further proclaim this house BOSH."

"Bon appetit, motherfucker." I said, serving my daughter and Boshman a plate of gourmet guinea pig shite, served with olive oil and mashed poptatoes.

And poptarts. You can't forget the poptarts. Cinnamon, brown-sugar flavored poptarts.

"Fuckin-A!" Boshman said. "This is so bosh!"

"Bosh, and weet." I agreed. "This dinner is so weet."

"One time," Boshman said. "I had cow pie. That's good stuff. It was so bosh, I threw my chair out the window."

"Cunt!" I exclaimed.

"Penis mammoth whore!"

"Ass-blood penis-pants!"

"Jizzbomb explosion in my ballsack!"

"One time I pissed in the cat's ear," I said. "It was weet."

"One time, Scruggs and I stole the Queen Mother's Range Rover to go camping," Boshman said. "She was whining about it, so I lit up twelve cigarettes at once and blew smoke into her face."

"Weet." I said.

So me and Boshman actually were getting along pretty well. We shared a love of rape, rabbits, rabid rodents, Renefast, roping, running, razzing rozzers, reaping roses and roping rapists.

It was all so Bosh.

It was also weet. But that's not the point.

It was all so Bosh, but it had to come to an end.

"Boshman," I said. "Can you rap? Freestyle?"

"You racist!" Boshman replied. "Just because I'm bosh, you think I'm good at raping?"

"Raping, maybe," I replied. "And rapping. But mostly raping. Can I touch your nipple?"

"I'll bet you think we all steal things, and jack cars, and have large behinds, and live in the Sahara desert!" he said.

"Yeah!" I said enthusiastically. "You're also pretty good with money, right? And have big noses?"

"No, those are Jews."

"Oh."

"You're still a racist."

"Still?" I asked. "That's not very bosh. Or weet, for that matter."

"Absolutely, fuckin' F." Boshman said, shaking his head. "Alyssa, you are so fucking bosh, you're the boshest girl I ever met. You make Earl Scruggs look like body oil, and you make Tenacious D sound like live webcam body waxing, but I can't be with you. Your dad's a racist."

"I'm STILL a racist?" I said, confused. The Boshman said goodbye to my daughter and walked out, keying my wallpaper as he went by. I always loved my wallpaper, the ones with little duckies on them. I loved my wallpaper. I also loved eating lead paint chips.

"Goodbye, cunt." Boshman said. "And by the way, I blew your cat."

"Shit, I don't even have a cat. You didn't blow the throw rug, did you?"

"Oops," Boshman replied. "Well, I shat in your purse."

"Not my purse!" I shouted. "You bastard!"

"I never liked amphibians," Boshman said. "Sorry Alyssa, gotta go."

And with that, Boshman left my life.

I'm just wondering if I'm still a racist.