I'm a very happy man on Fridays, It's my day of degeneration. I am
a blissful soul most of the time...not today...not right now. Usually I
keep my mind shut. There is no reason to be angry on Fridays. Yet, I
still find a reason to call something out. This, my friends, is "the
Friday Fuck You."
Today, September 29th, I am saying a big FUCK YOU
to moms. That's right, mothers. Women that injected the cock and left
it in too long. Hey, was it really his fault that he came in 16
seconds? Yes. Yes it was.
I am cursing mothers for a different reason though. You see, moms feed
their kids the spinach. With their hippin'...oops, I don't write for
them. "Them" equals every lame web page that would post that hack Cosby
phrase. Every page except for this one (even though it's posting as we
speak). Derrick, thanks for creating DamnCrackersDotCom. You're the man
now, dog.
I remember the day that my mom made me eat the leafy green substance
known as spinach. I didn't know that she secretly wanted me dead,
though. That was twenty years ago; I was nine. Popeye was my hero. What
kind of role model wants you to succumb to E. coli? Surely, none that
my dear old mom would prescribe me to. SURELY mine would though.
SHIRLEY for you 'Airplane' fans. "No, mom, I don't want to watch that
anorexic, control freak make me get into a fight with Brutus." He
scared me, and he was only a cartoon character. I'm a pussy, mom. Keep
your E. coli away from me, mother dear. What I need is some Flutie
Flakes, not instant death, mom.
Todays, "Friday Fuck You," goes out to moms that made their children
eat spinach. Great parenting. You might as well have handed your kid a
loaded gun and let him/her know that it doesn't get better from here on
out. Especially after you find out that Olive Oyl is a dirty, cum
guzzling Dr. Kevorkian.
Spinach equals suicide, baby.
Spinach equals suicide. Unless your mom tries to feed it to you 20
years later. That, is a prolongated abortion...or, homicide. Especially
if she is still doing the "Airplane Into the Hangar" maneuver on you.
Then you just need to get some help. That, or tighten your bib up,
Junior.