Don't ask me if I'm okay, because I will say yes while thinking no. No I'm not fucking okay.
For me, Mom was my conscience, my filter, my mentor. Now I'm looking around for guidance and all I really have, all I've ever had are my Family. They're not Mom, of course, but a little spark of her remains in each one of us. And that is what I cherish.
I'm difficult. I'm an abrasive asshole. I will tell you all the things you don't want to hear. And I have to do it because she's not here to do it.
Try to make me weak. Try to crush my soul, go ahead. I fuckin dare you. I'm more afraid of my dead mother than I am of any of you assholes. You better hope that when you go to attack me in any way, shape, or form that you take me to my fuckin grave. Because if you don't I will exact revenge. The kind of revenge my Mother loved best: living well and being happy.
No matter what else happens I will strive to be happy and make the world a better place. I'm gonna do that whether you give a fuck or not. Because that's what Mom would do.
Most Christian people live their lives by "What Would Jesus Do?" I'd like to challenge that ideal. What would my Mother do??? Exactly what Jesus would do. Motherfucker upended tables and whipped some assholes. Think about that for a while.
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