“Warning #2. Don't bring up past issues. She may have been into drugs when you were a kid, and forgot you at school a lot, but don't talk about that today. Try to focus on the better times, when she supported one of your decisions, or when she did something silly and made everyone laugh.” – How to Celebrate Mother’s Day, wikiHow.
Leave the house RIGHT now.
In the name of home economics, efficiency, and Rorschach-like splatter, set off a small bomb in the kitchen at 8 am.
Spray paint a loving tribute on a nearby bridge the night before. Go for a drive after dinner and see that the liquor made you write “I wuv you Momo.”
You’ll find that a brutal you-ee will stifle her contemptuous snorts.
You’ve heard of vodka-infused watermelons? Get out the turkey baster and get…creative.
Seriously. Don’t come home until DARK.
You've been giving your father Seven Eleven-grade plasticized porn and your mother bulk-bin peanut brittle for every major holiday since you were four...why stop now?
Enlist your twitter minions to call your mother every minute the ENTIRE 24 hours of mother’s day.
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After a muggy driving-around kind of day, I composed this poem for the May Day Poetry Project, which is in its seventh incarnation this year. (!)
I (mostly) apologize for the slightly morbid, porn-y aspects of the poem.