Deep State

Our folks took us out to eat last night. We went to a pizza place that was supposed to be good.

The waitperson came over and said that the special was a deep-dish pizza.

“No deep-dish,” my dad said. “Just bring us the dish pizza.”

“But the deep…”

“No deep. We don’t hold with the deep.”

“You’re getting in too deep,” my mom whispered to him.

My dad doesn’t vote because he says that when you do, your vote sinks, sinks, sinks into the deep. My dad read a book written by Mickey Spillane called “The Deep.” It made an impression.

The Deep State is the worst. My dad takes it as a personal criticism.

“I’m not in a deep state,” he says. “The average elevation of Nebraska is 2,600 feet. Feet, not meters.”

“But dad,” my sister says, ” there are 3.28084 feet in a meter.”

“Who told you that?!”

“Dear,” my mom says, in a deep voice, “look deep into my eyes.”

“Oh my god,” my dad says. “I’ve peed.”

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