[ WP ] Two dads get into a dad-off .

“ What did you just say to me? ” Hank said, puffing his chest out like he and Joey had seen the apes do at the zoo. He ’ d taken off work to go on that trip last month, used one of his coveted vacation days just to make sure Joey had a wonderful day at the zoo. If that didn ’ t make him father of the year, then he didn ’ t know what would. 
 
 “ I said you ’ re a shitty father, ” Michael replied, his eyes slowly climbing up Hank ’ s torso before locking with his own gaze. Hank had always hated Michael, hated him since the day he found out his son had also bought him a “ World ’ s Greatest Dad ” mug. There could only be one, they both knew that, and they ’ d been in competition ever since. Yet it was Michael who had fired the first shot, selling his left pinky finger for tickets to Disney World at the request of his six-year-old son Aaron. He was such a showoff, such a self-righteous bastard. Where did he get off severing his own finger, just to spite Hank? He knew Hank had a terrible phobia of blood, knew he ’ d never do such a thing. What a grade-A asshole. 
 
 “ Fuck off, ” Hank said. “ I ’ m a better dad than you ’ ll ever be. ” Hank flexed his puffed-out pectoral muscles, or rather attempted to do so. It had been a long time since he ’ d seen anything other on his chest than a pillow of distended, flabby blubber, and was no longer sure he even had any muscle lying underneath. 
 
 “ Oh yeah? ” Michael said, lifting his four-fingered hand up into the air and wiggling it awkwardly close to Hank ’ s face, his World's Greatest Dad mug hanging from his thumb. He knew just how to get him, just where to strike. 
 
 “ Yeah, ” Hank said, rotating his wrist and bringing it just beneath Michael ’ s nose. He wanted him to smell the fresh ink stained against his pale skin, the words “ World ’ s Best Father ” written in cursive beneath a drawing of his son, Joey, atop a flaming unicorn. He ’ d asked Joey what he wanted most in a tattoo, and his immediate response—a flaming unicorn—became reality a few hours later. 
 
 “ What is that? ” Michael said, staring at the still-bloody tattoo. 
 
 “ Fresh ink, ” Hank said, laughing slightly and adjusting his grip around his World's Greatest Dad mug. “ My kid requested it. It ’ s permanent. ” 
 
 “ That ’ s it? ” Michael said, tilting his head slightly. He laughed softly before beginning to unbutton his navy, button-down shirt. 
 
 “ What are you doing? ” Hank said, watching as his paternal enemy undressed himself. 
 
 “ Look. ” Michael pulled his shirt open the rest of the way, letting it fall down off of his arms like an eager virgin bride on her wedding night. His chest was completely covered in ink, a massive tattoo of Aaron plastered from the bottom of his neck to just above his waist. Aaron was wearing a clown suit, riding a surfboard out of an erupting volcano, with the words “ Fuck Pokemon ” stenciled across the bottom. It looked incredibly painful and unnecessarily colorful. 
 
 “ Jesus Christ, ” Hank said, taking a step back. “ You let him do that? ” 
 
 “ He told me what he wanted, ” Michael said. “ A good father does anything for his kid. ” 
 
 “ Oh, so you didn ’ t actually let your child tattoo you? ” Hank said, unlatching his belt. 
 
 “ No, ” Michael replied, staring down at Hank ’ s slowly descending pants. “ What are you doing? ” 
 
 “ Now it ’ s my turn. ” 
 
 Hank pulled his pants off the rest of the way, letting them fall to his feet in a crumpled pile of business casual. He stared down at his own legs, the mess of scribbles and lines cascading across every inch of his once-pale skin. It was the result of letting Joey play with the tattoo gun for about a week straight, until he got bored and decided it was no longer fun anymore. 
 
 “ What the hell, ” Michael stammered, staring at Hank ’ s legs. “ Joey did that? ” 
 
 “ Yes, with an old, unwashed needle, ” Hank said, extending his hands out like Jesus on the cross. “ Behold. ” 
 
 “ That ’ s pretty good, ” Michael said, his face suddenly changing from shock to amusement. “ Not great, but pretty good. ” 
 
 “ What do you mean? ” Hank said. “ He used an old needle, I ’ m pretty sure I let my son give me AIDS just to make him happy. ” 
 
 “ All I ’ m saying is that you ’ re a shitty father compared to me, ” Michael said, throwing his button-down shirt back over his shoulders and closing it up. “ Do you know where my son is right now? ” 
 
 “ No, ” Hank said, pulling his own pants up, careful to avoid the dozens of open wounds and sores essentially covering his entire lower half. “ That ’ s your job, you ’ re the father. You should keep track of your son. ” He was such a shitty dad, didn ’ t even know where his own kid was. 
 
 “ Oh, I am keeping track of him. ” Michael reached into his jean ’ s left pocket and pulled out a small, red device. It looked like an iPhone of some sort, but with more buttons and sharper corners. “ Take a look. ” He shoved the device forward. 
 
 Hank grabbed the object and stared down at it, the words “ Universal Positioning System ” stenciled across the top in silver lettering. The screen seemed to show a grid of some sort, with a large, green blip in the center. Hank had absolutely no idea what he was looking at. 
 
 “ What is this? ” Hank said, turning the device over. 
 
 “ UPS, ” Michael said, smiling. “ It ’ s like GPS, except for the entire Universe. ” 
 
 “ Okay? ” Hank said, handing the red object back to Michael. “ I don ’ t get it. ” 
 
 “ My son always wanted to be an astronaut, ” Michael continued. He glanced down at the screen, staring at it for a moment. “ Now he ’ s in space, living his dream. ” 
 
 
 “ What? ” Hank said, titling his head and taking a step forward. “ Your son is in space? ” 
 
 
 “ Absolutely, anything for my kid. I built him a rocket and sent him to Mars. ” 
 
 “ Are you insane? ” Hank said, his eyes scanning Michael up and down. “ He ’ s going to die up there. ” 
 
 “ Some parents let their children make their own mistakes, that ’ s the sign of a good father. Unlike you, I ’ m not holding my kid back. ” 
 
 “ You ’ re an absolute monster, ” Hank said, taking another step back. “ I can ’ t be around someone as insane as you. You ’ re a terrible father. ” He turned and began running back toward his house, his World ’ s Greatest Dad mug clenched in his fist. 
 
 Hank knew he was now behind in the rankings, that Michael had beaten him out with his latest stunt. He needed to get home immediately and begin construction on his own rocket, to somehow figure out how to get Joey launched to at least Jupiter, if not Saturn. Yes, Joey would probably die on the trip, but he'd do anything for his six-year-old boy. Plus, since Aaron would already be dead, the competition would end there. Hank would finish out on top and finally cement himself as the World's Greatest Dad. Then he could get to work on recapturing his title as World's Greatest Husband. 
 
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