Ouch, My 30s!

Duval ponders where to go for a healthy birthday and tangles with lesbians once more.

Duval recalls visiting his father's medieval fortress and discusses Cognitive Behavioral Therapy...and white women.

Duval had some sangria and reflects on comfort and familiarity in his 30s vs chasing your dreams when it's a little harder to do so.

To quote David Chappelle, "White women, I support you.  But ya'll don't SHUT THE FUCK UP..."

Duval draws the correlation between rich white women, the liberal savior complex and how much black people can take.

Duval finds unexpected support from his stepdad and when he gets home, the rich white liberal gentrifiers have a new gig.

Duval wanders out into America amidst a pandemic.

Duval's dad breaks quarantine for some crab legs.

Fatherhood, in the sense of conscious begetting, is unknown to man. It is a mystical estate, an apostolic succession, from only begetter to only begotten. On that mystery and not on the madonna which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the world, macro and microcosm, upon the void. Upon incertitude, upon unlikelihood. Amor matris, subjective and objective genitive, may be the only true thing in life. Paternity may be a legal fiction. Who is the father of any son that any son should love him or he any son? - From “Ulysses” by James Joyce

From out of no where, after 33 years, Duval gets a Dad!