To the Audience of Guy Fieri’s Diner, Drive-Ins, and Dives:
We are writing this letter as a last resort. The Food Network is killing our father and we don’t know how much time he has left.
When this all started, our family thought it was a joke. Our mother doesn’t even let him cook in the house. He makes cereal with melted ice cream. He uses frosting as a palate cleanser. Those sayings he has? Those aren’t just sayings. He really does eat flip-flops. He’s always done that. He leaves notes on waffles, usually about how we’re out of waffles. He calls every town Flavortown. It’s extremely confusing when we try to go on family road trips, when we try to go anywhere.
Our dad never tells us that he loves us, only that we’re “off the hook.” He often mixes up our names with breakfast sandwiches. Sometimes we’re not even sure they’re real sandwiches, just foods and nouns he puts together in his mind, like “Cheese Ham Texas Toast” or “Gravy Boat Junction.” He keeps trying to patent “Flufferbutter,” which is just butter mixed with marshmallow fluff. His pockets are always stuffed with deli meats. It attracts wild animals and our whole family has gotten rabies more times that we can count.
Our mother says he wasn’t always like this. He used to have a regular 9-5 job working at Blockbuster, before he dyed his hair and devoted all his time to eating himself to death. He doesn’t even watch movies anymore, just videos of people frying bacon. Our family hasn’t seen a movie in seven years.
We need your help. He has every kind of diabetes. His blood is 70% caramel. Every meal could be his last. All of his doctors have either quit or gone into hiding. We are begging you, his audience: please stop watching his shows on The Food Network. He has twelve of them now and another six in production. Demand more shows about beating Bobby Flay, cooking with ingredients you’ll never find, or making children cry. We just want the dad we’ve only heard about, seen pictures of. We want to touch our father’s hair without cutting ourselves or coming into contact with bleach.
Thank you, and please stop encouraging him,
Hunter and Ryder Fieri
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Sam Reid is a writer and comedian living in New York City. You can follow him on Twitter@SamReidSays.