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.