Mother’s Day is fast approaching, and it’s important that we all stop and recognize our mothers for making sure we didn’t grow up to be jerkoffs. It’s a difficult challenge that requires years of careful molding and guidance, as well as numerous severe beatings. If a mother misses even a single step of the process, their child will end up being a total waste of time. Her only choice then will be to smother them with a pillow and start all over.
The proof is in the pudding, my friends. I’m sitting next to a complete waste of time right now. I’m on the bus, and the guy next to me seems to be riding only because it provides him a captive audience so he can preach about Jesus. If his mother had beat him more often, or less often, or the same amount but also taught him what the word “douchebag” means, we could have avoided this awful incident in which I had to smother him to death myself on the floor of the bus.
Don’t get me wrong; I like Jesus. He’s a philanthropist, he has a fantastic beard, and he’s agreed to wait until after I’m dead to imprison me in a fiery pit of hell. He’s a heck of a nice guy, so I can understand why people would want to spread the word about him. However, this guy on the bus smells like a dog’s butt, and appears to have confused gay people with zombies. Gays are contagious? How many buckets of cocaine does a mother have to ingest during pregnancy to produce a kid dumb enough to confuse gay people with sneezes? Gays aren’t contagious, they’re just trending really hard right now.
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.