Famous Fathers: Hellmann, father of Hellboy
Hellmann: Gosh, I don’t know, Professor Dipshit, maybe I just happen to be the founder of the Hellmann’s Mayonnaise empire?
Adam: What’s with the hostility?
Hellmann: My worthless son makes millions of dollars playing some kind of Cuban Goat Fireman or whatever the shit he is, and I don’t get one shred of recognition for my contribution to sandwiches? I tell you what: you and all your readers can call my fat, retarded son the next time your turkey on rye is too dry. Let’s see how much his Charcoal Fart Rifle or whatever the hell he uses in those damn comic books can make your sandwich more tangy.
Adam: So Hellboy never had any interest in the family business?
Hellmann: Oh, of course not. Get this: the kid wanted to start a fucking mustard business. I’m like, “Jesus, son, you got the Plochmans and the Frenchs controlling almost the entire mustard market, and you’re just gonna swoop in and make a mint?”
And who the shit makes mints out of mustard? That’s not going to make your breath smell any better.
Adam: I completely agree.
Hellmann: So he throws a big fit and starts going on about how he’s going to become famous some day playing a mumbling bipedal yak. That’s when I kicked him out of the house.
Adam: Have you spoken to him since then?
Hellmann: I’ll call him every so often and leave him messages.
Adam: That’s nice.
Hellmann: I’ll say something like, “no matter how popular you become, your father still thinks you’re a worthless pile of shit. Try working for a living like a real man. Suck my ass, Vagina Face.”
Adam: Does he appreciate the encouragement?
Hellmann: Oh, I’m sure he does. Every famous person had a father who treated them badly, just look at Jesus.
Adam: Oh yeah, his dad really let him have it. Do you think they still talk?
Hellmann: Well, I can guarantee you Jesus don’t sass back to papa no more. A few days on a cross can straighten anyone up, but times were different back then. My own father once caught me smoking behind the garage. He and my uncle riveted my hands and feet to the aluminum siding on our house. I stayed there for five days. When they finally let me down and asked if I knew why they did that, I was so insane from pain and hunger I couldn’t remember, so they re-bolted me to the house for another week. I never could remember why they did that.
Adam: You were smoking behind the garage.
Hellmann: No, I wasn’t. The point is: I had a healthy respect for my father. Even now when I think of him I collapse to the floor sobbing and vomiting for hours. The only thing my son ever vomited was a BLT he couldn’t choke down because he refused to have anything to do with the family mayonnaise. Seriously, a BLT with no mayo? That’s like screwing a chick without your dick. What are you supposed to use, a caulking gun? I can tell you from experience that women do not like that.
Adam: So despite the lack of acknowledgement, you think you helped shape your son into who he is today?
Hellmann: I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s squeezing industrial caulk into some poor lady’s hoola-hoo right now. All I know is that he’s not getting a single dime of my vast mayo fortune. If he has any sense, he’ll get that woman to a doctor right now and have those caulk babies aborted. I forgot your question, what was it?
Adam: It’s not important.
Hellmann: Buy my mayo. Tell your friends.
Hellmann: You can just eat it out of the jar like pudding. Most people don’t know that. I discovered it shortly after my second wife left me.
Adam: I’m sorry.
Hellmann: Don’t be. She was a good woman, and her vagina gave me cans of Pepsi. She was actually a Pepsi machine, now that I think about it. When she stopped producing soda I told her no man would ever want her, so she left. Got about two feet and her cord came out of the wall. She’s still standing there, next to the lamp.
Adam: It’s so nice to finally hear your side of things.
Hellmann: Well, you don’t have to waste your life as my son did in the pursuit of fame and recognition. You can be like me and fuck soda machines while eating warm mayonnaise. People need mayo, and soda machines need cock. That’s always going to be true, no matter what.