Peep my son’s grapes.

Don’t send me pictures of your kids grapes, because I can assure you that your child’s grapes are shite compared to my genius of a son’s grapes.

“Are these freshly picked from the vine in Napa?”

Hell no bitch, these is fresh grapes straight off my kid’s brain stem yo.

Well done boy. Well done. You get a new hotwheels (read: for dad to play with and act like it’s for you).

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