Fire Pits, MAGA Dads, and the Art of Shutting the Hell Up
Ah yes, nothing says relaxing weekend like a little family time around the fire pit… roasting marshmallows, sipping wine, and watching a grown-ass man spiral into a one-man racist monologue while I silently debate whether to fake an emergency or just fake my own death.
So this weekend, Rick’s dad came over. And if you’re picturing a sweet grandpa-type with stories about the good old days and maybe a corny joke or two—LOL. No. This is MAGA Dad™. Full-fledged cult member with a PhD in Bigotry and a minor in Screaming Into the Void.
Every single story he tells ends with a slur, a conspiracy theory, or a complaint about “the damn liberals.” Charming, right? This time, he launched into a rant about that “Elon asshole,” railing on about how he’s doing illegal stuff and someone’s gotta do something.
Um… hey asshat? That someone would be your orange golf buddy. You know, Trump? The one you’re practically ready to knight with a red baseball cap and a plate of cheeseburgers?
I said nothing. I kept my cool. Because arguing with him is like yelling at a Roomba—it just bumps into the same wall over and over and acts surprised every time.
But he kept going. Louder. Meaner. Dumber.
So finally I said, “Stop.”
He didn’t.
Rick stepped in with a firm “Enough. Change the subject.”
MAGA Dad: “I’m stopping.”
Also MAGA Dad, not even 60 seconds later: “Michelle Obama makes $120K a month!”
…I walked inside.
I was this close to packing a bag and going to my friend’s house for the night. Because if Rick was just gonna sit there and let his dad spray his verbal diarrhea all over our fire pit like it was Fox News Live, then why the hell should I stick around?
But then… what was that noise?
Oh, just Rick screaming at his dad. Yelling. Full volume.
MAGA Dad: “What?! I’m not the one who ran off!”
Rick: “No, you’re the one who ran their damn mouth!”
[Insert me listening from the kitchen like it’s a live courtroom drama]
Rick: “What did any of that BS have to do with enjoying the day with family?!”
And just like that, Dad got told to leave.
Next day? Inappropriate memes. Like nothing happened.
Apologies to me? Nope.
I genuinely don’t know what this man’s end game is. Is he trying to get under my skin on purpose? He knows where I stand. My opinions are based in facts, lived experience, and reality. His opinions are brought to you by Tucker Carlson and whatever Facebook group thinks Obama is still secretly president.
But I try. I really do. I try to be respectful, avoid the topics, not poke the bear. He’s Rick’s dad. Rick didn’t choose him. But damn if I’m going to sit there while the guy pokes me until I either flip out or flee. That’s not a conversation—that’s harassment with a Bud in hand.
And here’s the thing: the guy’s. Unhappy. Drinking. Complaining. Escaping his own house to come to ours—and now, burning bridges here too.
So let me be clear:
This is your escape?
Then congratulations, sir—you’ve now made yourself unwelcome here too.
No apologies. No self-awareness. Just more bad memes and MAGA talking points on autoplay.
Let this be a reminder to anyone with a toxic family member:
You are not obligated to set yourself on fire to keep their sorry ass warm by the fire pit.
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