Kids, Meet Your New Mom
by Rok Finger 

Austin; Cheryl; Penny… it’s time to meet your new mom.

I know you kids don’t take to change very well. And I wish like hell there was a more comforting way to introduce her to you than through my column, which I sincerely doubt most of you even read. But you’re all spread out over the country and this is the most affordable way to do it, time- and money-wise.

Philip; Cassie; Archie; Vicki… I’m talking to you, too. Don’t think I’ve forgotten. I may not have been the greatest dad to all of you, and if I’ve misspelled your names in any fashion, please forgive that minor indiscretions. After all, if it weren’t for minor indiscretions, most of you wouldn’t even be here! But I kid your promiscuous mothers.

Back to the subject. Felchyana may be different than all of you, and her country is full of heartless atheists who dwell in poverty, but that doesn’t make her any different than any other step-moms I’ve brought home, even the one-night variety. And Felchyana will be here for quite a while, since we’ve paid out the apartment lease through the month. She also speaks a funny language and loves baking cakes, so if you kids want any delicious birthday surprises, you’d better be on your best behavior. Don’t think I don’t mean you, Ronnie.

Felicia; Kim; Dambo; Manray! I hope you’re paying attention. You never did come around to Arvelyn all that much. I know she may have been a deceitful, hateful bitch who tried to kill me. A hideous bottom-feeding creature who sucked all will to live and joy out of my life. But—what was the question? Forget it. I just want you kids to give Felchyana a chance. She means more to me than anything in the world. Even you kids.

Pablo! Juanita! Federico! Hablo inglés, kids? Treat your new mom with respect, that’s all I’m trying to say. I have never taken marriage lightly, except for maybe the monogamy part. But when I enter into a marriage, it’s like a contract. Like doing business with someone. You have to trust them, and I trust Felchyana more than anyone knows. There’s simple explanations why I don’t give her a key to the apartment and lock her inside when I leave. I just don’t need to explain myself to you kids. When was the last time you even came around to see me, your own father? I’m not talking to you, Hugo. I know you’re in the iron lung still. Get better soon, kiddo!

Bah. Look at me, getting angry for little or no reason. That isn’t like me. But when I say I want things to better between us, I mean all of us. That includes Felchyana as well as you. I also include all of you in that declaration, even those of you I’ve disowned in a furor over the years. So Slim; Buaana; Jefferson Davis; Lindetta; Moby; Sheena; Opinion; Dandy; Carl; Carl, Jr.; Mannix—welcome back into my life kids. Let bygones be bygones. Except for you, Abraham. You can never be forgiven, for reasons you know all too well.

Ah. Caroline; Fanta; The Gooch… this weight has finally been lifted. I never tried to hide how I felt about Felchyana, but I may not have let you know just how serious I feel about her until now. Especially since some of you I haven’t spoken to in 40 years or more (By the way, how is the new hip, Soma?). But I’m starting a new part of my life, and I feel like a young man. Practically 55 again! Which reminds me, happy 55th birthday, Rambo.

Wedding Bell Booze
Despite all that horror beforehand, it was a charming ceremony. Red Bagel walked me down the aisle, though the preacher certainly didn’t approve, but he’s Episcopalian and I don’t approve of that, so we’re even.

The Last Nights of a Free Man
It started out as a typical bachelor party plan, when fortunately good friend and a little too-hippie-for-my-tastes associate Omar Bricks got involved, with the sage advice that one-night parties were earmark signs of a pussy. Am I pussy, he asked me?

A Moll Married to the Mob
The details are hard to glean, since Felchyana’s English is a little shabby and I have a poor ear for details, but as near as I can figure it he was involved with a non-Italian mafia in some fashion and it did not lead to the expected 40-years-then-retirement. They found him in the shape of an ottoman in a warehouse down by the waterfront.

The True Meaning of Glasnost
Not all the Russians, mind you, but one Russian. You know me, good people, knowing one is like knowing all of them. Sure, I was instantly distrustful of her when I heard that thick Russkie accent, but when I saw her face, I was a daydream believer, just like the Brass Monkeys say.