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My dad is Mr T.
He suplexes your dad.

My ole da' was a US air force jet pilot. Banged french chicks like a rock star, turned to Jesus, and thinks David Bouyie has two different colored eyes because he's into the occult. And has a son who's turned out to be a major disappointment. Oh well.

That's the best part about families. No matter how much we fuck up and disappoint each other, we still love them and they love us, eh?

My dad can recite the entire movie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail from memory. An Oxford International Culinary College graduate, he has played in the field of food and wines for years. He claims to play eight different musical instruments, and believes with the potential of future cloning, he could someday be his own orchestra. He relies on his trusty sidekick, and maximum hound, Norton, for spiritual guidance. He collects Dr. Suess memorabilia. He is a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. He writes award-winning operas. He can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and he can cook two-minute eggs in less than a minute. He also has been known to remodel subway stations on his lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat dispersion. He is an expert in glass bricklaying and an outlaw in Brazil. He breeds prize-winning clams. Using only a hoe and a glass of water, he once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from an attack of ferocious army ants. He reads ancient Egyptian manuscripts in the original Sanskrit. He is an abstract sculptor, a master archer, and a ruthless bookie. He was scouted by the Man Utd and is the subject of numerous documentaries. On Wednesdays, after work, he repairs electrical appliances free of charge. He knows the exact location of every item in the supermarket. On Thursdays, to let off steam, he participates in full-contact origami. He owns many of Burt Bachrach's instrumental recordings and periodically annoys the neighbors by playing them at a high volume. He has performed open heart surgery, and he has spoken to Elvis.

RE: The Mclusky lyrics. Read the album sleeve and all becomes clear. (It's a house in Ireland.)

Ah, class in a glass.

My dad...er...makes albums. But they don't sell. Right.

My dad is Chris Tarrant...

...Need I say more?

My Dad invented the internet.