From the moment a new father attempts to convince his baby that the thumb pushed between his fingers is in fact his child’s disembodied nose, the dad joke is a big part of fatherhood, like throwing a kid on your shoulders in the park, or teaching them to ride a bike.

Unfortunately the dad joke has become shorthand for a bad joke, but a well-timed “Hi Hungry, I’m Dad!” can be a pure and endearing thing. More than that, it can often be the first communication between a tongue-tied dad and a stubborn teen.

Then I said, "hi hungry, I'm dad!:

Other dads: pic.twitter.com/tXTobosv2Y

— Cats are the future (@iLikeCatShirts) November 6, 2016

There’s a stereotype with a big old chunk of truth in the middle: some men aren’t great at communicating their feelings. You know who else is bad at communicating? Hormonal kids approaching adolescence. This can lead to a lot of icy cold car journeys and awkward meal times.

The dad joke is a beautiful and innocent method dads have used for generations to get a response from uncommunicative teens. Even if that’s just a groan and a tiny smile out the car window, it can feel like the thawing of the arctic tundra to dad.

What is a Dad Joke?

Dad jokes are short gags that normally involve the often-considered enemy of good comedy: puns. They are not meta, clever, or edgy. They often veer into the so-bad-they’re-good territory, and could be considered guilty pleasures.

DAD: [grabs chest] Quick! Call me an ambulance.
ME: [hesitantly] You're… an ambulance.
DAD: I'm- I'm so proud of you, son [dies]

— mo (@chuuew) May 4, 2016

The other pure thing about dad jokes is that they are never offensive. Most teen girls would rather throw themselves out of a moving minivan than the topic of sex come up on a family drive. Your son is probably thinking about girls all day, but anytime you even consider mentioning the subject to him he disappears into his stinky room for the winter. The dad joke never veers into the tawdry or raunchy. It’s a safe distraction from the minefield of teenage awkwardness.

[kids party]
"This bouncy castle is twice the price of last year"
Dad no
"That's.."
Please no dad
"..Inflation for you"
*kids start crying*

— Jaz (@jazmasta) July 11, 2015

Dad jokes are rarely original. The same lines have been echoed through the years, from dad to dad, from 80’s station wagons to rainy baseball practice, from backyard barbecues to sock-scented bouncy castles.

Why Dad Jokes? WHY?

They are not going to change the world, but I can’t imagine a world without them. A dad joke will rarely even make a room full of people laugh, but the simple dad joke is an innocent way of making your changing child laugh at the world. Sure they may be laughing at you not with you, but that’s okay, sometimes that’s enough.

For the first installment of our new Great Sporting Rivalries feature, TheDad heads to Spain, to find out more about one of the greatest soccer rivalries of all time, Barcelona vs Real Madrid, El Clasico.

To fully understand the rivalry between these two sporting giants, it’s important for us to have a teensy bit of a history lesson. Throughout the middle part of 20^th Century, Spain was ruled by the military dictatorship led by General Franco. Franco’s rule was about Spanish nationalism, representing the interests of the country’s elite. This meant marginalizing some of the smaller autonomous communities and repressing their cultural identities. Now, this is important because Real Madrid are based in Madrid, the country’s capital, and are extremely pro-Spain. They were Franco’s team. Barcelona, on the other hand, is the largest city in Catalonia, in North East Spain. You may have heard about Catalonia recently as they held an independence referendum in the summer of 2017.

Anyway, throughout Franco’s reign, there was some pretty serious favoritism going on from the General. Real Madrid were afforded a lot of support from the government, whilst Barcelona were… not so much. This was particularly evident in the transfer saga of Alfredo di Stefano. To cut a long story short, Barcelona had signed the player, and then “something” happened involving Franco and, suddenly, he was a Real Madrid player. The equivalent of that would be like if Trump decided who traded to what team, regardless of the league decision.

Anyway, the point of this history lesson is to demonstrate that there are historical and cultural elements to this rivalry. When you then throw on top of that the fact that they are the two biggest and most successful clubs in Spanish soccer history, you have a bit of a fractious relationship.

So, keeping that in mind, let’s talk about Luis Figo. Figo was a superstar of world soccer in the 1990s. He was a star forward for Barcelona and the Portuguese national side throughout the decade, arguably one of the greatest players of his generation. He played for Barcelona for five years from 1995 to 2000, when, yep, you guessed it, he transferred to their bitter rivals. Figo isn’t the only player to have played for both clubs, but he is probably the most high profile player to have transferred directly between the two. Let’s just say, it didn’t go down that well.

When Real Madrid played Barcelona in October 2000 in Barcelona, Figo was pelted with bottles, lighters, mobile phones. Despite usually taking corner kicks for his side, he didn’t take any in that game, because he couldn’t get that close to the supporters for his own safety. But it was his second return to Barcelona’s Camp Nou stadium that really defines the hatred between the two clubs. As Figo went to take a corner kick at the stadium in November 2002, he was, again, pelted with missiles from the crowd. The game had to be postponed for 20 minutes while they calmed the crowd. During that break in play, cameras picked up the defining image of the rivalry: a pig’s head had been thrown at Luis Figo. (It’s on the floor between the steward and the corner flag in the picture below)

Now, if Barcelona vs Real Madrid doesn’t qualify as a great sporting rivalry, I don’t know what does.

Not that we condone it!

It’s no secret that this year’s Super Bowl doesn’t feature the matchup most fans wanted to see, which would involve any NFC team playing anyone besides the Patriots.

Sure, fans in Philadelphia are psyched, and other than Carson Wentz and his family, they should be. They haven’t been to the Super Bowl in a minute and they’ve never won it, despite Mark Wahlberg’s best efforts back in the early 80s and Donovan McNabb’s upset tummy against the Pats in 2004. Fly Eagles fly!

via GIPHY

Then there’s the Patriots, a team that pretty much nobody outside of New England wanted to make the title game again. Many fans are less than thrilled about Sunday’s game.

Understandably, there has been a lot of chatter about skipping the big game to watch or do anything else. Never one to waste an opportunity to part fools from their money, Vegas is here to lure you back! If you’re struggling to find a reason to tune into the game on Sunday, maybe one of these ridiculous prop bets will entice you.

Half of the aren’t even about the game itself!

This Sunday, you can bet on all manner of things, including:

• How many tweets Trump will send out?
• How many times will “wardrobe malfunction” be mentioned during the TV broadcast?
• Will anyone from NSYNC perform with Justin Timberlake?
• Will Timberlake cover a Prince song?
• Will Eagles fans boo Santa Claus again?
• What color will Timberlake’s shoes be?
• What color will Pink’s hair be when she sings the National Anthem?
• How long will her performance last?
• Will the Patriots perform a Satanic ritual before the game?
• How many times will Tom Brady’s age be mentioned?
• What color will Belichick’s shirt be?
• Will Vince McMahon smash a chair over Roger Goodell during the trophy presentation?

Fine, a few of those are made up, but most of them aren’t! Because Vegas will let you bet on just about anything, including the coin flip and the color of Gatorade that gets dumped on the winning coach.

Some people are surprised:

There’s a bet you can place on what color the Gatorade bath for the Super Bowl winning team will be… Gotta love 2018

— Eric Campbell (@Ericcampbellll) January 29, 2018

Gambling is a crazy endeavor – There are now lines out which dictate by the spread which PRINCE song JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE will sing first at the Super Bowl halftime how – The Super Bowl "prop" just opened at Top Bet Sports

— charles benjamin (@chaleeboh3131) January 25, 2018

But the most enterprising gamblers are already devising ways to game the system and tilt these bets in their favor, either by committing a crime:

My favorite Super Bowl prop bet:

• Will Tom Brady's jersey be stolen again? 10/1

If anyone is going to Minnesota and willing to take a risk, let me know. Let's make some money.

— Corey Seidman (@CSeidmanNBCS) January 26, 2018

Or baiting the president into being, well, himself:

So there is a Super Bowl prop bet on number of Trump tweets during the game. The over/under is 2.5, this is a no brainer. If we can get someone famous to tweet something even moderately critical about Trump 5 mins before kickoff, his fragile ego will cause a tweet storm and bam $

— PhilosopherStoned (@Philo_stoned) January 23, 2018

I’m not much of a gambler myself, but I’ll be watching. And as a Dolphins fan, the only outcome I care about is the final score, which will hopefully be about 3700 to Zero in favor of the Wahlbergs.

Because America needs to get even fatter

In the ongoing fast food wars, a few franchises stand out for their willingness to cross any and all lines. Pizza Hut put cheese in its crust, Hardees prides itself on trying to kill you with calories, Taco Bell uses Doritos as taco shells, and KFC created a sandwich that uses meat instead of bread.

Colonel Sanders and his Army of Death are back, and this time, they’re coming for your drinks.

That’s right, your drinks. And I don’t mean they’re making super-sized soda cups that use macaroni and cheese as ice cubes. (Forgive me if that hits stores later this year.) No, I’m referring to alcoholic beverages, because for some reason, KFC has released recipes for alcoholic beverages featuring a KFC-centric special ingredient:

Gravy.

YOU HEARD ME.

WFLA News out of Florida has the details on these new concoctions, the recipes for which were posted on KFC’s websites in the UK and Ireland.

The names of the three gravy-based drinks are: Gravy Mary, Southern Twist and Fingerlickin’ Sour, and I’ve posted the recipes at the bottom of the article. Knock yourself out! Personally, as soon as I see “20mL KFC gravy” on the list, I’m skipping ahead to the next drink on the menu.

There are videos showcasing the preparation of each drink on the KFC UK and Ireland YouTube channel, which you can watch right now!

Here’s the Southern Twist:

The Fingerlickin’ Sour:

And The Gravy Mary, which, at least consistency wise, seems like the only one in which gravy might possibly make sense if I were already drunk and trying to do that thing where Homer needed to gain hundreds of pounds to get on disability:

I can’t lie: every time they poured the gravy in, I had to cover my mouth in case I threw up.

The first comment on the Gravy Mary video, which has 54,000 views, sums up my general feelings on this entire matter: “I’m reporting this video to the FBI.”

Maybe that’s just me. If you want to give them a try, you can: here are the recipes for the gravy-based drinks. But if you end up making them, please keep it to yourself. I can’t lose another friend.

The Gravy Mary
Ingredients:
20ml KFC Gravy
50ml vodka (optional)
90ml tomato juice
1 tsp horseradish cream
20ml worcester sauce
15ml lemon juice
Hot sauce
Paprika, celery salt, pepper
Highball glass
Ice
Celery
KFC Popcorn Chicken

The Southern Twist
Ingredients:
60ml KFC Gravy
50ml bourbon
Lemon
Brown sugar
Parsley

The Fingerlickin’ Sour
Ingredients:
60ml KFC Gravy
240ml mezcal
1 tbsp orange marmalade
1 egg white
25ml lemon juice
15ml cherry liqueur
Lemon thyme spring
Coupette glass

Are you suffering from exhaustion, sleep deprivation, headaches? Is your hair thinning? Do you ever wonder to yourself, what happened? Then you might be suffering from PAR•ENT•ING.

PAR•ENT•ING affects 10 out of 10 mothers and fathers around the world and can lead to: extreme debt and loss of self identity.

You may need… AphukenbrakE.

A childless friend recently posed a philosophical question: Is a vasectomy a sign of love for your children? Or a sign that you hate them?

Stay with me here. Does getting a vasectomy show that you love your kids so much you want to be able to focus all of your time, love, and energy (and money) on them? Or does it show that they are so difficult that you couldn’t possibly bear to have any more of them in your life?

Before answering, I mentioned that during my own vasectomy the pinching and pulling was uncomfortable.

“WHAT?!” he said. “You weren’t put under?”

No. I was not.

Combine this misconception with tweets like this, implying that penises are the central focus of a vasectomy…

There needs to be a 30 for 30 on Cromartie's dong.

"What if I told you the greatest athlete in the world wasn't a person but a penis"

— Isaac (@WorldofIsaac) September 8, 2017

…and I think some basic vasectomy knowledge must be dropped before we get into philosophical musings.

Vasectomy Basics

Fair warning, I will be using some fairly technical medical terminology here.

I think the most common misconception is that jizz comes from the doodads. Not true. Sperm are sourced from the doodads, flow through the doodad cables in the doodad sack, and make their way to the seminal vesicles (no immaturely funny name for that, sadly), where they join the majority of the fluid, which doesn’t come from the doodads at all. There the jizz stays, until the moment of climax where the fluid makes its sweet escape.

So a vasectomy is simply cutting those doodad cables so that the sperm doesn’t get to flow and join the rest of the jizz in the seminal vesicles party. Men who have a vasectomy still ejaculate. And absolutely nothing about a vasectomy involves the penis. Got it? GOT IT?

The Surgery

So what is a vasectomy like?

Vasectomies are typically performed by a urologist, a doctor specializing in doodads and other equipment located in the pee-generating region. Urologists deal with all types of urinary issues. So in my case, my urologist’s office was filled with old men with prostate and kidney stones issues. The waiting room  looked (and smelled) like bingo night at a local nursing home. Not exactly the level of cleanliness I would want for the place where my doodad sack was about to be sliced open.

On the day of the surgery, my wife drove me. However, my doctor told me it would be fine to drive myself. So not only do you not get put under, but you are easily able to walk out of the doctor’s office and drive home after the surgery. My wife was so grossed out by the waiting room that she wouldn’t sit down. (She’s also a bit of a hypochondriac. God bless her.)

The surgery chair/table/bed looked like this:

I laid on the specialty hospital bed with my pants and underwear down around my ankles. The doctor raised the bed upwards like a human standing desk with genitalia in the middle, he shown a bright white light on my junk, and got to work.

If you’ve never had someone tug on your doodad cables, it’s difficult to understand. It feels like you’re a puppet and the cables are strings to your soul. You feel it in your stomach and you feel it in all of the places where you hold your deepest insecurities. That’s probably the worst part.

Except for the Novocaine. For my vasectomy, the doctor used local anesthesia, shot directly into my doodad sack skin. It felt exactly like that: a needle injecting fluid into the delicate tissue paper skin that protects the family jewels.

While the doctor was juicing me up, he made jokes. I like jokes. I’m a joke guy. In this case, however, not really into jokes. He wasn’t making dick jokes, necessarily, but given his current work location, any joke was basically a dick joke.

“Perfect weekend for this,” he said. “You can watch the Masters.”

“I’ll probably make memes,” I replied awkwardly.

Once the Novocaine set in, I didn’t feel much. He made two small incisions, one for each doodad. Then he cut each cable in two spots, removing a tiny piece from each. Then, he soldered each cable shut. As he did this, I saw smoke rising. I smelled the searing of my own doodad cables. The jokes continued. I clenched my eyes tightly and to convince myself I was doing the right thing, I thought about the most difficult parts of parenting. I could almost hear my kids throwing a tantrum in the distance.

That’s it. He finished up. He told me to get dressed. He left the room. It was over in about 30 minutes.

There was discomfort during the surgery, but it’s not nearly as bad as people make it out to be. Everything still works. My penis is intact.

Love or Hate?

So why did I do it? What does getting a vasectomy say about my relationship with my children?

Getting a vasectomy is a personal decision, and for those in a relationship, it’s a collaborative decision between you and your partner. So for me and my wife, does my vasectomy show that we hate our kids, or love our kids? Like parenting, it’s complicated.

Our two kids are eccentric and dynamic. They are higher maintenance than most. Our days are filled with extreme highs and lows. And we wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s the best.

But three kids like this would surely stretch me too thin—mentally, emotionally, financially. I actually don’t hate my kids. Not exactly. Not at all really. They’re just… a lot. Look at it this way, if I eat two gigantic pieces of chocolate cake, I feel pretty good. I’m satisfied. I had a good experience. But if I eat a third, I’ll probably vomit.

So I think I had the vasectomy because I love my kids, but maybe more so because I love my sanity. If my kids want a sane father, and I’d like to think that they do most days, then a new brother or sister is not the ticket for them.

I love my two kids the perfect amount. It’s that hypothetical third kid I hate. That said, if the vasectomy failed for some reason, and a third child comes, I’ll choke down that third piece of chocolate cake and do my best not to vomit. And I’ll probably love it all the same.

The Cleveland Indians are finally retiring their controversial logo

It only took more than a decade of complaints, but the Cleveland Indians are finally doing the right thing and getting rid of the offensive “Chief Wahoo” logo that many view as a racist caricature of Native Americans.

Unfortunately, the logo won’t officially be retired until the 2019 season.

The logo has been around since 1947 but has been under increasing scrutiny over the past decade or so, as people questioned the need for such a stereotypical and offensive portrayal of native Americans. The argument against removing the mascot is typically about Chief Wahoo’s long history with the team, and the attachment that Indians fans have to it.

Despite those arguments, after discussions between Indians’ owner Paul Dolan and Major League Baseball Commissioner Rob Manfred, it was announced today that the logo would be removed after the 2018 season. In order to keep trademark control of Chief Wahoo, it must have a retail presence, so the team will continue to sell merchandise with the logo, but only in Northeast Ohio.

via GIPHY

“Major League Baseball is committed to building a culture of diversity and inclusion throughout the game,” Commissioner Manfred said in a statement. “Over the past year, we encouraged dialogue with the Indians organization about the club’s use of the Chief Wahoo logo. During our constructive conversations, Paul Dolan made clear that there are fans who have a longstanding attachment to the logo and its place in the history of the team.

“Nonetheless, the club ultimately agreed with my position that the logo is no longer appropriate for on-field use in Major League Baseball, and I appreciate Mr. Dolan’s acknowledgement that removing it from the on-field uniform by the start of the 2019 season is the right course.”

The team has slowly been reducing Chief Wahoo’s presence over recent years, removing signs featuring the logo and introducing a “C” for baseball caps. Outcry over the image reached a crescendo when Cleveland made the World Series in 2016 and Manfred expressed his desire to eliminate it. It seems he’s finally gotten his wish.

Finally, Native Americans can stop protesting outside of Jacobs Field before every season. Now they can take the fight down to D.C.

Not everyone is impressed with the speed with which this is happening:

I love how this Indians thing isn't happening for a full calendar year, like taking a patch off of some baseball uniforms is a nuclear disarmament treaty

— Katherine Miller (@katherinemiller) January 29, 2018

Indians are gonna stop using the Chief Wahoo logo in 2019… not a fan of that idea.

— BCSports (@BostonsCowboy) January 29, 2018

Or the fact that it won’t be completely gone:

Indians will maintain trademark and retail rights to Chief Wahoo. In other words, they're still going to make money off him.

— paul hoynes (@hoynsie) January 29, 2018

I'll be interested to see how little Chief Wahoo is used by the Indians outside of taking it off the caps and uniforms. I mean, everything goes back to marketing, right?

— Ray Ratto (@RattoNBCS) January 29, 2018

But some are just glad the debate is over, even if they don’t love the replacement:

No need to debate the Chief Wahoo logo any further, the decisions made made, time to move on… but @Indians, can we PLEASE get something better than that godawful generic Block C.

— Ryan McCrystal (@TribeFanMcC) January 29, 2018

Ernest Hemingway once wrote a six-word short story—For sale: baby shoes, never worn. In a sentence like that every word is doing some lifting. It’s almost poem-like—so much meaning crammed into so small a space, no room for error. I feel this weight everyday between the time my wife tells me she’s pregnant and I’m holding the new little so-and-so.

I have heard of two accounts recently in which couples went to the hospital for delivery without having solidified a name and left the hospital still without a name. This is probably not the most uncommon thing ever, but come on, seriously, get it together. You have nine months to come up with two words or three or four if you’re hyphenating. Who needs that stress post labor?

RELATED: 114 Unique Baby Boy Names You Won’t Regret – Fatherly

Don’t procrastinate

It is never too early in the process to start vexing your partner. My wife says to me, “I’m pregnant.” I say, “That’s great. How about Ernest?” “Babe, can you hand me my water bottle?” “Maybe if we can name the baby Cormac,” I say. It is a battle of attrition, a battle that you really cannot afford to lose. Trust me, my first son was nearly named Kohan.

First things first

Maybe it’s because—it definitely is—I’m an English major, but every part of a name has to mean something, which automatically cuts out anything like Braxton, Daxton, or Crackerjaxton. One thing to remember: A hell of a lot of people had to survive wolves, military service, and swine flu to allow you a chance at naming this thing. Don’t screw it up, and maybe throw them a bone. Your great grandfather Rex pushed a handcart across the plains? Bring Rexy back. Your second aunt Sylvie marched during the Civil Rights Movement? Endow that child with some strength.

Not another Andrew

Another thing to consider is you don’t want your kid to have the same name as every other kid in the second grade, which means no Liam, no Noah, and definitely no Andrew. You also don’t want to pretend you’re coming up with an original name because you spell it incorrectly, which means no Leeum, no No-uh, and definitely no Anzdroueue. There are thousands of names. Pick one that you hear maybe only a few times a week. Also resist the urge to add Xs and Ys.

No words

Please remember you are naming a child, not wording a child. Use actual names. Tree is not a name. Feather is not a name. Bong is not a name. Give your kids the opportunity to choose for themselves if they want to smoke pot; don’t force it on them.

RELATED: 103 Unique Baby Girl Names for Your Unique Baby Girl – Fatherly

Passing it on

I was once told that the meat goes in the middle. Thanks, Tom, my favorite sandwich artist. The middle name provides a wonderful opportunity to link generations. At some point your kid is going to hate you, and if you’re a Kevin and you name your kid Kevin (God forbid), he’s going to eventually change his name to Topher or some shit to spite you and make you feel worthless. So if you really want Kev to keep on Kevin’, put the K-word somewhere he can’t find it. Remember, kids are dumb.

Dick jokes

Of course, things can’t be quite that easy. You have to look down the road to about seventh grade and think about all the ways the students at your kid’s school are going to shape your child’s name into some kind of sexual activity. So, we’re cutting Venus and Dinah, no Dolores, and no on Lana, nothing like Mildo, not Dusty Mambone. Initials are also dangerous, so absolutely no Beverly Jo.

This isn’t about you. It’s about the kids. They are the ones who have to look up every time you shout their name at a Wal-Mart. Give them something good and decent. Give them a fighting chance. Personally, I’ve got a name picked out that nobody can eff with and seven months to talk my wife into it: Wu-Tang Clan.