My Mom And I Are In A Fight, And I Don’t Think She Even Knows It

First I was at the gym. I’m cranking out a quick bike sesh when my music cut out – I went from If I Can’t by 50 Cent to You’ve Got A Friend by Carol King in no time flat. Then, I’m preparing some music for my shower time adventure I’m about to embark on and instead of the Parliament I was planning on, my iPhone succumbs to some – hang yourself in the closet – Smiths’ slow jam.

Mom, if you’re reading this, you are ONE STRIKE away from being put in a home! If you weren’t the one that birthed me – oooo I swear to GOD! I feel like Paul Rudd in 40 Year Old Virgin, if I have to listen to Yah Mo B There by Michael McDonald one more time, YAH MO BURN THIS PLACE TO THE GROUND.





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Well, shit. She fucking got me again. The sad truth is this woman owns me. She’s pays the bills.. and the only thing I can afford to pay for is Spotify. What is it that the romans used to say? To the victor goes the spoils? You might win this time, but when you’re attending mandatory quilting at 11 am everyday at Boston Senior Home Care, you’ll remember how sacred a man’s Spotify is.

PS – I don’t think I’ll ever be able to listen to Van Morrison the same way ever again.