In honor of Mother’s Day, I have prepared a poem for the Weathermother:

You let me spend nine months in your gut,

And kicked me out after I was as big as a coconut.

By the time I was four I was taller than you,

But you still helped me take a poo.

That time I tried to flush a girl down the toilet,

You got her out & framed that mean kid, Chet.

And when the Weatherbrother kicked my ass,

You were always there to watch and laugh.

That time I said I asked about premarital sex,

You just laughed and said ‘eat your Wheat Chex.’

If ever I asked you what function mipples had,

You patiently said, “Ask your freak-show dad.”

And that time we Weathersiblings were fighting in the car during our growth,

You turned around and lovingly said “shut up or I’ll smack you both.”

Monday’s forecast: Happy Mothers’ Day, Weathermother.