Daddy, Stop Talking!: And Other Things My Kids Want But Won't Be Getting - Tapa dura

Reseña del editor

The comedian, actor, television host, podcast king, and New York Times bestselling author of President Me, Not Taco Bell Material, and In Fifty Years We'll All Be Chicks now lays down the law on the plight of the modern parent. Parents, do you often think that if your kids had to grow up the way you did-without iPads, 70-inch flatscreen TVs, American Girl dolls, and wifi in the climate controlled minivan-that they might actually be better off? Do you feel underappreciated or ignored? Do you worry you're raising a bunch of spoiled softies who will never know how to do anything themselves-because you do everything for them? If you answered yes to any of these questions, you need Daddy, Stop Talking. Adam rips parenthood a new one, telling it straight about what adults must do if they don't want to have to support their kids forever. Using his own crappy childhood as a cautionary tale, and touting the pitfalls of the kind of helicopter parenting so pervasive today, Daddy, Stop Talking is the only parenting book you should ever read. Here, too, is sage advice to Adam's own kids-and to future parents-on what matters most: dating; drinking and drugs; buying your first house and car; puberty; and what kind of assholes his kids (and yours) should avoid becoming. Even if his own son and daughter pretty much ignore everything he says, you shouldn't. And you're welcome. Again.

Contraportada

Last Will & Testament of Adam Carolla

I, Adam Carolla, being of beaten-down mind, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament. I revoke all wills and addendums previously made by me. (You guys never did listen, anyway.)

Article I

I appoint the rest of the world's unappreciated dads as Personal Representatives to administer this Will. I bequeath to them the right to crack a couple cold ones in the garage after working their asses off all week and ask that they be permitted to watch all the porn they like and not have to change diapers and get dragged to every preschool "graduation" and PTA meeting.

Article II

To my wife, I leave a safe-deposit box, the sole content of which is a note reading "Get a job. I'm dead," and my best wishes on trying to keep up with the unending demands of our houses, cars, dog, and kids.

Article III

I devise, bequeath, and give my kids this book, Daddy, Stop Talking. Since you guys were the death of me, I leave you these pages of wisdom. But no cash, cars, or property. You've got to earn those. On that note, I further demand that the following message be placed on the marker of my grave: "You're All on Your Own Now. Enjoy."