Thanks for making sure I didn’t turn out that dumb, mom. Much appreciated.

Another example showed itself this morning. I was walking to the train station and a driver got tired of waiting for pedestrians to finish using the crosswalk. Rather than slowly inching his car through the crowd, he slammed on the gas and nearly ran us all over. Being the good citizen I am (thanks to a mother who taught me well), I instantly knew the right thing to do. I turned and gave him the finger. He saw it in his rear-view mirror, slammed on the brakes, and leaned out of his car window and screamed, “Do you want a piece of me?!”

Naturally, I ran like hell. Don’t judge. I weigh 150 pounds. Sometimes the wind knocks me over. The point is that this guy was an asshole, and he wasn’t born that way. He was likely sculpted into an asshole by his uncaring mother’s neglect. I’m sure he’ll drive to her house this Sunday, running over a baker’s dozen worth of pedestrians along the way, and then lay on the horn, lean out his car window and shout “Happy Mother’s Day, bitch!” before driving back home and spending the rest of the day cleaning bloody hair out of the grill of his car.

Some people may note that everyone is a jerk occasionally. I couldn’t agree more. We all have our moments. I once stabbed a little girl with a sword. But I’m pretty sure people who attempt vehicular homicide and then angrily shriek at the victim for not liking it don’t fall into that category. Thanks mom, for teaching me not to shout death threats at strangers whom I nearly murdered on purpose five seconds earlier. Much appreciated. If I had a gold star, I’d give it to you.

Our mothers are great, but in the interest of journalistic fairness, let’s take some time to also list ways in which our mothers could improve. First, they should send us more money. I know I’m 34 years old, but I live a very extravagant lifestyle. Second, they should stop leaving the toilet seat down. It’s bad feng shui. Finally, they should stop leaving incredibly upbeat comments on every one of our Facebook status updates. You’re scaring away all the hot babes, mom.

Fortunately, these flaws are a small price to pay for being sculpted into the brilliant, perfect citizen that I have become. Unlike my landlord, who in the two weeks since I’ve moved in has thought up at least five new types of deposits that he “forgot to tell me to pay”. His mother’s vagina must have been like a waterslide full of poison.

Make sure to thank your own mother this weekend for not making you a psychopath. I know there aren’t a lot of cards at the 99-cent store that express those exact feelings, but just give her a call and say, “Hey mom, thanks for not being a douchebag.” Then quickly hang up the phone before she realizes it’s your voice on the answering machine and tries to pick up the phone to talk to you.

Step 4b (optional): Visit the emergency room and have yourself checked for a concussion. Save valuable time by having them pop your dislocated shoulder back into its socket in the same visit.

Step 5: While the super glue on the couch legs is drying, drink seven or eight beers.

Step 6: For the first time ever, measure the width of your door and the width of your couch. Obviously, it will not fit. Curse loudly.

Step 7: Remove the feet from the couch and measure again. Obviously, it still won’t fit. Shout angrily at the couch, as if it has feelings.

Step 8: Take out a screwdriver and attempt to remove your apartment door from its hinges.

Step 9: After ten seconds, announce out loud to no one in particular how boring this task is, and then discard your screwdriver and get another beer.

Step 10: Drunkenly forget where you put the screwdriver, and instead try to undo the screws with your apartment key.

Step 11: Congratulations! All the screwheads are now completely stripped and impossible to remove! Use a saw to cut off the door hinges instead.

Step 12: Measure the door again. Realize the couch still won’t fit, even with the door removed from its hinges. Curse loudly.

Step 13: Take a break and watch reruns of The Golden Girls for two hours. After all that hard work, you’ve earned it!

Step 14: It’s now three in the morning, so it’s time to get back to work. Search the internet for tips on how to remove your door frame, because that’s a thing, right? Yeah, I’ll bet that’s totally a thing someone did once to make a couch fit.

Step 15: Since you don’t have a drywall knife, use your apartment key to pry off the door frame.

Step 16: Shout angrily as you break off the end of your apartment key.

Step 17: Super glue your apartment key back together. Drink six more beers.

Step 18: Knock on your elderly next door neighbor’s door and proudly show her how you super glued your key back together. She doesn’t speak much English and seems very angry that a drunken honkey woke her up at 4am, but don’t let that dampen your enthusiasm.

Step 19: Test out your poorly-glued apartment key in the door you removed earlier. Curse loudly as the end of the key breaks off in the lock.

Step 20: After 20 minutes of trying to get the end of the key out, accept that the excess super glue has hardened inside the door lock forever, and realize that it doesn’t really matter anyway since you sawed the door off its hinges.

Step 21: Take a break and watch reruns of Saved by the Bell for two hours. After all that hard work, you’ve earned it!

Step 22: It’s now six in the morning, so you should probably drink another case of beer to keep your energy up.

Step 23: Duct tape all your credit cards together and use them to force the rest of the door frame out of the wall. Don’t worry about little details like how terrible it looks, how impossible it will be to put back in or how little skill you have in remodeling such an important part of your residence.

Step 24: Wave casually to your landlord as she passes, leaning against the door in a manner that hides the horrible, lease-violating damage you’ve caused.

Step 25: Measure the gaping hole where your door used to be, and then measure the couch.

Step 26: Curse loudly as you realize the goddamn thing is still three inches short of fitting into the apartment.

Step 27: Take a break and vomit ferociously onto your building’s fire escape.

Step 28: Take a break from vomiting and watch reruns of Hollywood Squares. After all that hard work, you’ve earned it!

Step 29: When a stoned guy from down the hall starts asking inane questions, invite him inside. Spend the next 12 hours watching TV and getting high. Completely forget that you have no door or door frame in your apartment, and are completely exposed to anyone who would like to steal your belongings or rape you.

Step 30: Wake up at 3pm and immediately pass out again after seeing the gaping hole where your front door used to be.

Step 31: Wake up at 4pm to find that someone much smarter and less alcoholic than you has stolen your couch from the hallway. Problem solved! The couch is now “moved”. Where it has moved is still a mystery, but it’s close enough.

Step 32: Visit Home Depot’s parking lot and hire illegal immigrants to fix your door frame.

Step 33: Realize that the price illegal immigrants charge is almost as expensive as paying a licensed contractor to do the same job. In retaliation, refuse to buy your illegal workers lunch. Watch as they revolt, damaging your apartment even worse and stealing your other furniture.

Step 34: Stealthily move out of your apartment in the middle of the night before your landlord notices the damage. Change your legal name to “Thad Swivensbee” to avoid being taken to court.

Congratulations! Your new couch is now installed . . . somewhere. Whatever. It’s close enough. Right? Totally. Mission accomplished, or something.

I believe blondes have less fun. In my experience, they put out a lot less than brunettes.

I believe 99 percent of the world’s problems occur because poor people aren’t willing to stand up for themselves. They’re able, just not willing.

I believe Peter Dinklage is actually quite tall, and the whole “little people” thing is just an Andy Kaufman style gag.

I don’t believe panda bears actually exist. Every time I see pandas at the zoo, they look fake.

I believe that the moment I find a way to be truly content in life, I’ll be able to enjoy it for 30 seconds before I’m mauled by a velociraptor.

I believe The Beatles were lying when they said “all you need is love”. You also need a TV to fill in the awkward silences.

I believe deodorant and cologne/perfume should be the same product. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told a girl that she smells nice, only to get the reply, “I’m not wearing perfume. Maybe it’s my deodorant?” It’s very awkward. I usually just leave the building whenever it happens.

There sure are a lot of conspiracies about deodorant in this column. I believe that may be a conspiracy as well.

I don’t believe all world governments are controlled by lizard people, but I do believe lizard people would do a much better job than us.

I don’t believe members of Skull and Bones – the secretive fraternity at Yale University – join so they can someday control the world. I’m pretty sure they join for the same reason poor people join a fraternity: Because they’re ugly and need extra help to get laid.

I believe that Disney CEO Robert Iger keeps Annette Funicello’s boobs preserved in a glass display case in his house. The maid is not allowed to clean them. He prefers to polish them himself.

I believe car washes use a special kind of soap that looks terrible 48 hours later so you’ll come back and wash it again.

I believe that 99 percent of over the counter medications are placebos. I also believe that 97 percent of over the counter medications are made from ground-up dog penises. A homeless man told me that last one, and I choose to believe him.

I believe that every time I undergo anesthesia at the dentist’s office, a minimum of 12 people will touch my penis without permission.

I believe baseball is purposely slow moving to weed out annoying people who come to sporting events with their face/chest painted. It seems to be working so far, and I’m grateful for it.

I believe the color pink was invented just to annoy me.

I believe graffiti and this column are the last forms of commentary that are free from corporate meddling. Well, that and AOL! Everyone should give AOL all their moneys and personal informations!

I believe that people who wish other people “good morning” are just assholes who say things for the sake of saying things.

I believe Paul Ryan’s Ramblings columns are a collection of clever lies and exaggerations to get people to think he’s more exciting than he is in real life. I don’t believe it’s working.