Welp: careful what you wish for. Last chance to turn back; I'm not gonna make a dad cry unless he's absolutely looking for it.
...
Ok then:
That's cute: writing "roast me" on a plate. It'd be too easy to joke that serving yourself up on a platter is ironic, given that you're fat and sweaty enough to be a pig--and by the way, thanks for sharing your stench with the class, you no-t-shirt-wearing anti-social ooze-bucket. So instead, I'll cut right to the quick.
Your kid's comment that the Ashley Madison joke is right on the money makes sense--after all, there hasn't been a ring on your finger in a long time, which is good, because no one should ever have wasted their time on you. Somehow your kid managed to turn out ok, which is a wonder since you never should've been allowed to breed. I mean fuck, how do you live through the counterculture, the most goddamn interesting period in maybe all of fucking history, and come out of it with the coolest thing about you being little polka dots on your 60-cent Walmart slave-made cup? Fuck, or rather, don't. I mean, if all you learned from the sexual revolution was how to cheat on your wife, you clearly don't deserve a penis.
And look at that smug laugh on your face. How hip of you, to do this Roast Me thing that the kids have re-discovered for their intra-webs. Ha ha ha, just like Dean Martin. Well I'm no Don Rickles, so I'm not just gonna "insult" you for bullshit we both know isn't true in the name of reassuring you that you needn't fear insult. I'm gonna look you right in the face and say hey, look at how deep the disgust and anger lines are. It's hilarious that you probably think you're smiling, when instead you're giving the world the most impotent "I could totally kick your ass look" it's ever seen. I bet your kid never got a time out after he turned two and realized he could punch harder than you could. That'd explain why you can't keep a damn partner: the second they realize you've got a blob of grease instead of a soul--or a heart, or a brain--they high tail it, and leave you getting pissed and pissed in the corner of the dive bar you claim is your favorite so you don't have to admit you'd get bounced from any place where the mold on the walls isn't older than you.
Go ahead and have that fucking heart attack so the people who still pretend to love you can finally get paid for it.