Clayton Diggs

4 out of 5 assholes hate Clayton

My Son, Clayton Jr., Is the Coolest Guy I Know

You ever sit around and think about how damn cool your kids are? I’m serious. I don’t get people who just wanna bitch and moan about their kids. There’s nothing on earth cooler than my year-and-a-half-old son, Clayton Von Jr! Hot damn!

Last night he was at my place and he woke up around 2:30 in the morning. I heard him stumble into my room like a drunken soldier, rubbing his big blue eyes and saying “Hi-eeeee?” in that earnest way he’s got. So I carried him back to his bed with his chubby arms wrapped around my neck and set him down and lay next to him. He just lay on his side looking me square in the eye, real serious, and touching my cheek like he was petting a kitten and making kissy noises at me with his rosebud lips. How cool is that? I’d rather be doing that with my son than any other thing. You can have your billion bucks, Mark Zuckerburg; I’ve got my boy.

You know what else Clay Jr. does that gets me? Everything. Like how he says “ah-pple? ah-pple?” for any food he’s keen on, or how he’ll take a chug of beer and then look at me with big eyes and say, “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” How cute is that? Just take my heart out of my chest right now and stab it with a pitchfork, you know? And I like how he builds these little towers out of blocks with an expression on his face like he’s got urban planning in mind, and how he stacks his boots one on top of the other on the bedside table.  I like how he always insists on having at least five of his matchbox cars in his hands and screams if he doesn’t.  And I dig how he dances his tiny curved thumb over surfaces like a finger-ballerina whenever his mind is somewhere else. He’s dreaming big dreams, I reckon. And I like brushing his curls back off his broad forehead (you could have a drive-in movie theater on my kid’s forhead!) until he falls asleep.

And then he’s waking me up at 2:30 in the morning again so I can put him back to sleep. There’s nothing better. Hot damn! If I had a drink for every cool thing my son does, I’d… well, I’d have the kind of evening I generally have.

So I’ll raise many cups to you, Clay Jr. As many as I can for as long as I damn well can. Here’s to you, son.

I love you.

Clayton Diggs, 2012

“I’m so damn cute it $#%@!ing  hurts.”

Mark Zuckerburg, the Asian Ring of Fire, and Marriage

You ever just sit around and think about what it would be like to have a billion bucks? I did, recently, and it led me to Mark Zuckerburg, who it seems to me has pulled off the I’ve-got-a-billion-bucks thing better than anyone else who’s turned the trick, especially seeing as how he’s barely old enough to shave his pubes (not like that old horse-humping bastard, J.Paul Reddam). I mean, hot damn, the kid started Facebook in between jerking off to Victoria’s Secret catalogs while he was a boy-student at Harvard way the hell back in distant 2004. Yeah, it’s been a long ride from hoodie-wearing pimply boy to hoodie-wearing pimply billionaire – a whole damn eight years!

Everybody seems to be talking a lot about the Facebook IPO, the company leaving home to go out into the big bad world and all, but then yesterday I read something that made me think that the IPO launch was just a smokescreen for something else the Zuckermeister had up his elastic-banded, thick cotton sleeve: the dude was planning to get hitched to his Harvard Asian cutie, Priscilla “Queen of the Facebook” Chan!

And you know where they had the wedding? The Taj Mahal? On top of the Eiifel Tower? In the Oval Office (bought from Barrack for a tidy sum)? On the moon? And who would be the minister? The Pope? Brad Pitt? Brangelina? Nope. Here’s where and how the thing went down: in the kid’s backyard in Palo Alto, California, in front of just 100 folks, with the couple’s poofy little white dog, Beast, officiating the ceremony.

It went like this:

Beast: “Woof, woof, woof, arfity arf take billionaire Facebook guy?”

Priscilla Chan: “Are you fucking kidding me? Get the damn ring on my finger before Mark sees Angelina Jolie’s dress.”

Mark: “Um.”

Beast: “Woof woof arf arf pronounce you billionaire and Asian cutie. Can I have that bacon bit now?”

Priscilla: “Is that it? Can I stop pretending to like this dork?”

Mark: “Um. What? 0-1-0-1-0-1-1?”

Every other woman in the back yard: “Fuck!”

So there you have it folks, the world’s most eligible hooded nerd is off the market. The wedding was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, seen by a lucky few who are still trying to wrap their heads around it. It must have been kind of like looking at an eclipse, kind of like the one that people in Asia and the Western U.S. saw this morning, the famously mind-blowing Ring of Fire. It’s what’s called an annular eclipse, apparently, and it’s when the moon comes along and blocks the sun, just leaving a little ring of the fireball visible to us mortals. Of course, the real eclipse didn’t happen in Mark’s backyard, but probably late last night, when Mark’s moon eclipsed Priscilla Chan’s Asian “ring of fire.” It might well have gone like this:

Priscilla: “Oh, Mark, eclipse my ring of fire.”

Mark: “Um. 0100010101101010101001010100.”

Priscilla: “Give it to me like a billion bucks!”

Mark: “Um. 00000000000000000000111111111111!!!”

Anyway, I reckon I’m kind of being a shitbird-asshole about the whole thing, but the truth is they’re a pretty adorable couple. But how can a guy not be a little bitter at another guy when that other guy could buy Egypt and move it to Arkansas? In any event, here’s to you kids, you glorious fucking billionaire man-child and you Asian cutie. I raise my mint julep to salute you before passing out in my rickety rocking chair. Here’s to you.

Priscilla: “Eclipse me, Mark.” Mark: “Um. 0101001010.”

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