By SAM BROMER
Last Tuesday, my father and role model, Harry Bromer, celebrated his 66th birthday. My dad is a wonderful, sweet, kind, gentle man. I can thank him for my taste in music and books, my passion for discomfort-inducing jokes and my Michael-Cera-going-through-puberty-esque features (check the columnist photo … and make sure you’re sitting down, ladies). He’s a great dad. But if you’re expecting a saccharine collection of anecdotes, culminating in a sweet, self-deprecating tribute to him, you might as well stop reading.