“You can’t snort coke off a woman’s ass and not wonder about her hopes and dreams, it’s not gentlemanly.”
-Hank Moody

And if Hank Moody is anything, he’s a Gentleman. Sure, sure. He drinks too much, smokes too much, and has a weakness for the siren song of just about every woman and controlled substance he crosses paths with and let slip the only woman he ever loved. He’s self-depreciating, self-loathing, and borderline immoral when it comes to just about every “diddle-eye Joe to a damned if I know”, save for one thing. His daughter Becca.

You see, through all the Bullshit that Hank puts himself through – yes, that’s right, 99.9% of the hijinx that Mr. Moody finds himself in are self inflicted – there is no doubt in his mind that his daughter, Becca, is his Brass Ring. His opus. The one shining moment in his life where he didn’t fuck anything up beyond all recognition. FUBAR, I believe it’s commonly referred to. I can dig it.

Why, just the other day, in the midst of this whole Kanye debacle, I was unloading the dishwasher whilst the laundry finished and dinner simmered on the stove top (that’s right brothers and sisters, I kick it Rock Star) and I was singing Mr. West’s delightful tune – ‘Can’t Tell Me Nothin’. Singing like no one was around because I was alone save for my two year old daughter who was doing her best Flava Flav. Our flows…Lava. Our beats….Solid. So, I’m singing “so I parallel, double-parked that muthafucker sideways…” I knew the verse was coming. I almost changed the lyrics….’so I parallel, double-parked that Gosh Darn thing sideways….” But, I’m an artist. And I won’t compromise.

And that’s why I dig Hank. That’s why Hank Moody, for all his blunders, for all his misogynistic tendencies, for all his Bullshit, Hank’s a good father. For example: What do you do when it comes to your attention that your just teenage daughter has deceived you and gone to a party you expressly forbid her to attend. Do you…A. Finish Dancing with the Stars and wait for said teenage daughter to return then work out on daughter with guilt trips and the like. Or, B. Call said teenage daughter’s friend’s parents and ask “why weren’t you keeping an eye on them. What kind of parent are you letting them go out at this hour. And to a drug frenzied, orgy-type thing?!!” Passing the buck. The great American pastime.

The answer is C. You high-tail it to the Forbidden party, bulldoze your way from room to room until you spy your just teenage daughter in the midst of pre-pubescent dick wads. Smoking pot. You then hoist teenage daughter onto your shoulder and take her home. That’s how Hank Moody rolls. That’s how I’m more than likely going to play that hand as well.

I think the characteristic that I enjoy most about Hank as a father is his ability to be extremely candid. Case in point. Young Becca surprises her father at his apartment one morning only to find him hungover and a naked woman that is not her mother in his bed. This would give even the most so-called Salty Dogs a case of the lockjaw. But not our boy, Hank.

Becca: “Father?”

Hank: “Daughter?”

Becca: “Can I ask you something?”

Hank: “Anything, my love.”

Becca: “Why is there a naked lady in your bedroom?”

Hank: “You stay right here.”

Becca: “There’s no hair on her vagina. Do you think she’s ok?”

Hank: “I’ll check.”

Again. Probly a situation you’d not want to find yourself in, or aspire to emulate for that matter, but, you have to hand it to the guy. Bullshit definitely Walks. I think kids need less bullshit. The dog didn’t go to a “big grassy meadow with all his/her doggy friends, where kibble rains from the heavens and sniffing asses is actually encouraged”, he/she got old an died and we’re sad and it sucks the Suck out of Coldplay records, but, that’s the way it is. Kids need less of a whole cornucopia of things. Bullshit mostly trumps.

Kids also need to know that it’s okay to not take life so seriously. Example, Hank pulls up at Becca’s school for the designated pick-up and he’s looking less than “fresh”. Becca is taken aback and Hank sees it.

Hank: “Daddy’s trying out a new look.”

Becca: “Are you mentally insane?”

Hank: “Yes, and I’m extremely high functioning.”

Hank Moody, ladies and gentlemen. Uncle Buck meets Hunter S. Thompson.

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