Hey, beer man

Thanks

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Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for making me look up in the sky at every plane that flies by now, and wonder.

Thanks for making me look at my wife and my kids and hope we'll all grow old together.

I mean, I hope they grow older. I'm already old.

Thanks for forcing me to stare at Peter Jennings longer than I ever hoped or planned on staring at Peter Jennings in my life.

Unless Paula Zahn was on. Then I stared at her.

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for letting me see people jump out of a 110-story building because that was the best option they had.

Thanks for letting me read stories about the people who should've been on those flights or in those buildings and weren't. 

And unfortunately, vice-versa.

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for making me look at every person I know, and giving them the "Jesus, I don't know what to say" headshake.

Thanks for making me call people I haven't called in years, and saying "Are you OK?"

Thanks for making me pray to God after asking that question that they all say, "Yes."

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for making me watch live footage of New York City that looked like I was watching Godzilla.

And to think, all this time, I thought Godzilla sucked.

Thanks for forcing me to learn more about Afghanistan and Pakistan than I ever knew.

Which, until last week, pretty much consisted of "Y'know, Afghanistan and Pakistan are countries."

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for making me say, "Can you believe this?" more times in one week than I've said it in my entire life.

And that includes the week I had sex for the first time.

Which coincidentally, was also last week.

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for stranding my fat ass in Los Angeles with no way to get out.

No planes.

No cars. 

No busses.

No trains.

No way out.

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for making me listen to my wife cry on the phone while I sat in a hotel 2,400 miles away.

It was a really nice hotel, though.

Thanks for making me feel like the worst father/husband in the history of father/husbandom because I couldn't get home.

Thanks for making my wife feel afraid to have a six year old and three year old in school.

Thanks for making my wife call her father to stay with her because she was afraid.

Which -- in all the sadness that's occurred -- is the only truly funny thing that's happened.

Because if you knew my father-in-law, he wouldn't exactly be the first person on earth you'd want to have at your side for protection.

He also wouldn't be the second, the third or the 235,657,876th.

When it comes to protection, Pete's the CIA.

CIA. As in "Callforhelp…I'm Afraid!"

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for making my wife tell my kids that I was going to be home a few days late because I wasn't going to be able to come home on an airplane.

Thanks for having my six-year-old son then say to my wife, "Is it because of the bad guys who flew the airplane into buildings and killed people yesterday?"

Thanks for having my son's first grade teacher have to talk to six year olds about bad guys who flew planes into buildings.

Thanks for messing with innocence, assholes.

Thanks for making my wife call me and tell me she found my son lying in bed, rubbing his blanket, and holding a picture of me. While I sat in hotel room, 2,400 miles away.

It was a really nice hotel room, though.

Thanks for my wife telling me that my son asked her, "What happens if daddy doesn't come home?"

Thanks for suddenly creating thousands of families who actually had to answer that question.

Thanks for my wife telling me that my daughter woke up in the middle of the night crying for me.

Thanks for my wife telling me that my son asked my father-in-law if he could call him dad.

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for forcing me to decide to drive 2,400 miles across the country with Steve and Tom to be home with our families.

2,400 hundred miles in 2 ½ days. Which, roughly calculated, is a lot of freakin' miles per day.

Thanks for making me stand in the car rental at the airport, pull out my driver's license, look at a picture of my family, and cry.

Rugged, manly tears. But tears nevertheless.

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for making us stop overnight in Las Vegas and not even having enough time to gamble because we all just wanted to get home.

Well, other than dropping 30 bucks in a slot machine in fifteen minutes, I didn't gamble.
And yes, it was the only 30 dollars I had.

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for confirming my self-proclaimed title of "The King Of Really Poor Money Management."

Thanks for making me drive through Nebraska, which is a fate no man should have to suffer.

Thanks for forcing me to stay in a Ramada Inn in Kearney, Nebraska, which was hosting the Nebraska J.C.'s convention. 

Thanks for putting my room right next to the outdoor pool, where the theme of the Nebraska J.C.'s convention was "All Karaoke, All Night Long."

Thanks for making me listen to "Man, I Feel Like A Woman" more times than should be allowed by law.

Thanks for giving me the Shania Twain words and the Shania Twain music. But no Shania Twain.

Thanks for the tease, assholes.

Thanks for making me eat massive quantities of Gummi bears and Oreos and Cheese Nips and Starburst for 35 hours.

Thanks for allowing me to find myself in a car with Steve and Tom for 2,392.6 miles, giving each other a hard time, trying to ignore the outside world, asking each other Trivial Pursuit questions for hours on end.

Thanks for making me realize how dumb I really is.

Thanks, assholes, I didn't need your help there. 

I have a wife for that.

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for letting Steve and Tom and I find out that our scheduled flights from L.A. actually got home on time. 

While we were somewhere in Iowa.

Which is the state directly after Nebraska.

Which totally sucked.

Thanks, assholes.

Thanks for making everyone I know hold their breath every time I get on an airplane now.

If I ever get on an airplane again.

Thanks for making me nervous every time I'm on an airplane now and someone stands up.

Thanks for forcing me to sit in my office and figure out the best escape route from my building. 

Just in case.

Thanks for making me look up in the sky at every plane that flies by now, and wonder.

Thanks, assholes.

Seriously. Thanks.

Because what you've done is the exact opposite of what you thought you'd do.

You didn't destroy us.

You made us all care again.

For chrissakes, you made me care again. And I didn't think that was possible.

Thanks, assholes.

You made me care about helping strangers.

You made me care about families that I've never met.

You made me care about that flag with the red and white stripes and all those stars.

The flag that I thought was corny and silly and all red-necky just a few days ago.

The flag that I look at now and -- as frightening as it seems -- makes me feel something.

Says the idiot who never feels anything about anything.

Thanks, assholes.

You didn't destroy us.

You made us proud.

You let us see firemen and policemen act like the heroes we all thought they were when we were kids.

We saw human beings act the way human beings are supposed to act. Like human beings.

Thanks, assholes.

Your plan backfired. You put this country back on its feet.

You've made us all care about being Americans again. And working together for one united cause:

Nailing your asses.

Thanks, assholes.

The last two weeks have been horrible.

Probably the most horrific two weeks in our history.

But we'll bounce back. We always do.

That's the history of this country. That's the history of us.

Because when all is said and done, we will persevere.

After all, this is the greatest nation on earth.

Even with Nebraska.

Which, by the way, totally sucks.

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