My name is ‘Super Dad’.
It is spelled ‘A T M’.
I am a taxi driver.
I am expected to find any location with a vague reference (the house next to the yellow one near Dyllan’s is fine.) House and street numbers are optional.
I know everything, except when I don’t. I have seen eyes roll back into another universe.
I can fix anything (thank God for YouTube).
The evil dishmonster has struck the kitchen again. He also filled the trashcans.
Cat vomit between the toes at 2:30 AM is to be expected.
No one knows of my secret identity.
I am supposed to be able to read minds.
I am handy with a plunger and a screwdriver.
Traffic and standing in line at Walmart are my weaknesses. So are screaming teenagers.
I just ate a whole box of ice cream sandwiches.
Should I feel guilty?