Oh Tom, look! It’s a boy! We had a boy! Or, to be more accurate, I had a boy. You didn’t do jack shit. He’s mine. All mine. In fact, I just came up with his name. I think you’re gonna like it. It’s John Edward Thomas Moynahan.

That’s right. John Moynahan, you heartless bastard. No Brady for you. Oh, were you hoping to continue your name on through future generations? Well then, you better start riding Gisele bareback, if you aren’t already, you negligent prick. You don’t even get the middle name to yourself! Ha! I’m making you share it. In fact, I put Edward first in the middle name pecking order, just to piss you off.

No man betrays the Bridge and gets away with it.

In fact, I’m gonna make sure he grows up to be nothing like you. He’ll be generous, and responsible. And you know what else he’ll be? Gay. That’s right. I’m gonna raise him to be super gay. Positively flaming. Know why he’s named John? It’s after Johnny Weir. I’m gonna dress him in girly clothes, make him watch hours of Bette Midler movies, and send him to performing arts school. He’ll be hitting London discotheques by age 11. Shit, he’ll be gayer than Hugh Jackman. And there ain’t shit you can do it about, you lecherous fiend.

Oh, did you want him to play football? Sorry. No football in the Moynahan household. No, I think he’ll be playing lacrosse. Lots and lots of lacrosse. He won’t care about touchdowns and fly patterns, because he’ll be too busy prancing around a field twirling a basket on a stick. Suck on that.

It could have been different. I’m no slouch in the looks department, my man. But noooooo, you had to have it all. You had to go trotting around the globe with that little fucking Brazilian strumpet you call a girlfriend. Think you can just knock me up, avoid the altar, and then keep living the high life, do you? “Oh, let’s do it without condoms, Bridge! You won’t get pregnant if we do it standing up!” Liar. Time to pay the piper.

So say hello to John Edward Thomas MOYNAHAN. Hope you like seeing him in pink onesies, you fucker.