From the ungrateful dickhead son point of view, Father’s Day is highly preferable to Mother’s Day. The latter is a production that involves getting reservations at a quaint brunch spot two hours away, getting dressed up, plus getting mom a gift even though she provides zero hints as to what she wants. JUST TELL ME, DAMMIT! Not the case with Father’s Day. Here’s how the planning for that goes:

[Phone rings on Tuesday]

Me: “Hello?”
Mom: “Hi. Father’s Day is this weekend. Your father wants to get a bushel of crabs and eat them out on the deck. Can you pick up some beer?”
Me: “Okay.”
Mom: “Great. See you on Sunday.”

WOOHOO! Thanks for being low-maintenance, dads. Oh, and for raising us and stuff, if in fact you’re one of those guys who was actually into parenting. Either way, have your helping of sexy.

Inclusion for the ladies/non-traditional male audience, ’cause at least some of the latter category are dads, too

[Pics/gif via here, here, here, here, here and here]