J.K. P-A-R-E-N-T-I-N’

Well alright, alright, alright!

It’s a boy. Jager bombs for everyone!

Let’s do this Daddy thang! My own little Mini-McConaughey… wow. My stokage level is set to “awesome” and my inner chi is rocked for crazy trimana! Time for Papa Matty to work out his Fatherhood muscle. On the beach. Shirtless. With Lance Armstrong spotting me. You know it!

To think I conceived this child almost 170,000 sit-ups ago. Man, time flies when you’re baked by so many things. The sun. Weed. Frito-Lays.

Frito-Lays are a miracle sent from God. Just like my baby.

I hope my baby is as tasty as Sour Cream and Onion.

God bless evolution.

Gotta start t-h-i-n-k-i-n about the future. Gotta make a life for my bounty. Can’t keep taking risks. Gotta purge my life of all the things that are harmful.

- No more runs with Jakey G; bro has an infatuation, and that can lead to trouble.

- Sell the bongos.

- Less Meh-he-ko.

- Consider sleeves.

Wow.

This parentin’ thang truly is about sacrifice.

OK… I can scale it back. I’ll only do 300 push ups, bike fourteen miles and pound three Corona’s today. Down from my usual 500/50/15. This Daddy thing is no problemo, kimosabi!

Man, these Levi’s are comfy. Well… time to go name my boy!

Bangarang!