Wednesday, October 13, 2010

"You didn't show me how to love properly."

I'm friends with my mother on Facebook and I haven't exiled her from seeing any of my activity; I know, I'm fucking retarded. I torture the woman anyways by not shying away from details of my life. "Yeah, I offered to show my friends my butthole, but no one took me up on my offer. I bleached it and everything, it's like staring at the holy land or some shit," I'll casually say to her as she gags on the other end of the phone. She's heard stories about me making out with a fat chick, getting lost in an apartment complex's parking lot for hours and barfing on someone's SUV, and waking up in some dude's athletic shorts and dress shoes that I apparently stole after I pissed myself one night. I've even threatened her with the statement that she's getting a phone call right as some dude's meat sword enters my holy grail for the first time. "Please, for the love of God, don't call me," she begs me every phone conversation. There's no need to shun her from my Facebook realm; or so I thought.

My friends have made the mistake of expressing to my mother that she's "awesome" and "fucking way cooler than any other parents that they know." With this new found "hipness" (as she likes to state) she feels that she's witty enough to comment on the banter between my friends and I. At first I accepted it, because I guess it's better than the alternative, which is her trying to squeeze into my clothes and going to Applebee's to get drunk and hit on middle-aged men. But, with time, the asshole adolescent inside of me has reared her ugly head, and I find myself fucking with my mother to the point where it's just cruel. I wanted to share with you, my blog friends, a glimpse into the Facebook relationship between my mother and I. I hope you enjoy. 

Orange = Batman's Mom
Blue = Tiny
Purple = Batman

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