|The Suicide Letter|
A funny thought occurred to me the other night while masturbating to Led Zeppelin's "In My Time of Dying." As I was about to murder thousands of my progeny, I realized it was coming (sadly, pun not intended) up on Mother's Day. Even though my mother died three years ago due to complications arising during the surgical removal of her pannus, I remained resolute in my refusal to let this dampen my spirit. Mother's day marches forward in my cramped, alcohol-soaked flat, despite death's cruel intrusion.
So, for all of you mothers (and mother-fuckers) out there, I give you my Mother's Day poem:
You endured thirty hours of pelvic spasms to bring me into this filthy world;
On a blood and viscera-soaked Slip-n-Slide® I emerged, umbilical unfurled.
You shrieked in agony at the very sight of my face;
Begging the doctor to return me to my unholy place.
Despite your open resentment and daily wishes that I should have been aborted;
I grew to adulthood, found employment, made friends, and even courted.
You cursed my existence, damned my oily hide;
When asked if I was yours, you even lied.
A weaker person would blame for who I am today;
A lesser person might hate you, say its you whom is to blame.
But I have chose to rise above all the admonitions heaped upon my head;
I find peace in the small things, simple beauty, and the fact that you are dead.
Happy Mother's Day!!!