When I contemplated fatherhood—long, long ago, for a couple of minutes—I never imagined myself as that guy. You know, the one obsessed with big-boy toys like boats and cars, the one who showers his gadgets with more love than he does his children, the one for whom ostentatious displays of wealth often substitute for simply taking the kid down the street to the playground.
Then I saw this:
Forget about the neo-Art Deco styling, the 52-inch flat TVs inside, the multiple staterooms. It is a freaking yacht with its own freaking custom car inside! Would you like me to put it another way? How about this: It is a freaking cool-ass car that has its own bad-ass goddamn yacht it rides in!
And so, Jean, if you happen to be reading this during an off-hour at work, and if you want to make me happy for a very long time to come (also very poor for the rest of our lives), please get me a Strand Craft speedboat for Father’s Day. Just make sure to kick in the extra $300 for the onboard paper shredder.