You might not know, or possibly even care, but it’s Mother’s Day in the USA very soon. I got to thinking about Mother’s Day while talking to your French Mimi on the phone the other evening. First of all, I do want to shout out to her and thank her profusely for telling me that I remind her of Richard Pryor. She doesn’t like all the swearing I do in my blogs, you see. So, my gift to her this Mother’s Day is that I’m only going to try say ‘fucking’ once in this letter to you and that was the one time. I’m not sure I can do it, but I’m going to try to find alternative, but equally satisfying expletives today. Happy Mother’s Day mum. Fortunately, I found this useful list of non-sweary swear words to help me along.
As well as thinking about mothers, I just started thinking about how every generation simultaneously revels in how more fun they had in their youth while complaining at the way the next generations choose to have their fun. Even worse, there are young people who are such doggone (there’s my first not sweary swear word…what do you think mum?) brown nosing poopy heads that they feel obliged to apologise on behalf of their own generation. The young woman claiming embarrassment for her generation, while coming across as frazzle-rackin spoiled effin entitled goody two shoes of the sort, who, perhaps, should be embarrassed on her own behalf, but certainly not on behalf of a generation I’ve been growing to love annoyed me very much. (Are you bored with the ‘safe’ swearing yet?)
Let’s examine your elders. Firstly, we partied. A lot. I was a teen of the 80’s. I know that sounds like a long time ago to you, but to me, it’s still fresh in my mind – well except the times when I was stoned or drunk, which was most of it, so it’s not that fresh really. Yes, the children of the 80’s spent a lot of time being utterly wasted. We were the cocaine generation. I was too poor to be a coke head, so I sufficed myself with cannabis and cheap and nasty street speed. We were the generation sandwiched between the acid freaks of the 70’s and the loved up ecstasy kids of the 90’s. I feel sorry for the youth of today, living in such an uptight society that they’ll never party like we did in 1999 (thanks Prince RIP).
Yes, your generation takes drugs, but they aren’t having the sort of fun we had taking them. You know why? Because the friggin’ anus hole pharmaceutical industry cottoned on to the whole concept of angsty young people self medicating their angst away and started prescribing them. So yeah, more kids are dying of drug overdoses than ever, but sadly, it’s no party. It’s big money. So, I’d feel that I should formally apologise to you, on behalf of your elders, for stealing your right to party. Because, you may not know it, but ‘You Gotta Fight For Your Right to Party!‘ Another gift from the 80’s that will smoothly bring us to the music section.
Our music was at least as hardcore and often as inane as the ‘millennial’ generations. While our elders were complaining about the sex, drugs, swearing and violence in the music we listened to, they conveniently forgot the music of their own. Tragically, I see history repeating itself. Let’s look at some of the lyrics of music from your elders, shall we?
Cold Ethyl by Alice Cooper (1975) about necrophilia
Yeah ooh oh
One thing I miss
Is Cold Ethyl and her skeleton kiss
We met last night
Making love by the refrigerator light
Ethyl, Ethyl, let me squeeze you in my arms
Ethyl, Ethyl, come and freeze me with your charms
One thing, no lie
Ethyl’s frigid as an Eskimo pie
She’s cool in bed
She ought to be, ’cause Ethyl’s dead
or, how about Ms. Pinky by Frank Zappa (1976) about a blow up doll
P-I-N I cry
K-Y don’t be shy
Give her a try
Her eyes is all shut in an ecstasy face
You can cram it down her throat, people, any old place
Throw the little switch on her battery pack
You can poot it, you can shoot it till your wife gets back
Now let’s move to the 80’s shall we?
Too Drunk to Fuck (sorry Mum) by The Dead Kennedy’s 1980
You give me head
It makes it worse
Take out your fuckin’ retainer
Put it in your purse
I’m too drunk to fuck
You’re to drunk to fuck
Too drunk to fuck
It’s all I need right now Oh baby
I’m melting like an ice cream bar
And now I got diarrhea
Too drunk to fuck
or, Me So Horny by 2 Live Crew (1989)
I know, he’ll be disgusted when he sees your pussy busted
Won’t your mama be so mad if she knew I got that ass?
I’m a freak in heat, a dog without warnin’
My appetite is sex, ’cause me so horny
Me so horny, me so horny, me so horny
Me love you long time
Me so horny, me so horny, me so horny
Me love you long time
You know what, I’m not even going to hit the 90’s. Let’s just say that it doesn’t get better. And you truly think that the music that millennials are creating and listening to is worse? Puh – lease!
Now we need to consider attire. This generation hears the refrain ‘pull your trousers up’ from their elders constantly. As if young people dressing in ways that annoy the previous generation is some sort of new freaking concept. Let’s take a look.
So, in review, just know that Badass Auntie thinks that millennials fucking rock (I failed you Mama, like I always have. At least you can rely on that. Oh well, there’s a bottle of wine on it’s way to you Mum. That will be more fun than me not swearing anyway.) Millennials are the people who have been left with the shit pile we’ve left them on this planet; debt, meaningless wars to make rich bastards richer, pollution, climate change, no fish in the sea, all the huge gorgeous animals becoming extinct. Just like the generations before us and before them. We lived fucklessly. Admittedly, we had a fabulous time in the process, but now we can’t turn around and start accusing the next generation of being ‘soft’, ‘snowflakes’ or ‘over sensitive’ because they are taking things seriously and trying to finally encourage people to be kinder to each other, kinder to the environment and kinder to the planet.
Sorry, but a big fucking ‘fuck you’ and the fucking horse you rode in on to all of you if you think that there aren’t a whole lot of young people trying very hard to be better than we were. That ‘fuck you’ also includes spoiled little pretend goody two shoes who think it will get them credibility that they never got anywhere else by apologising on behalf of their generation for fucking nothing – oh wait a minute, swearing and bad music and shit like that…yeah…right.
My little nephew, all I can say to you is that I’m unapologetic for my generation. Yeah, we fucked up. Yeah, we didn’t care, but we make fucking fabulous elders for you. For the most part, we’re pretty cool and we want to encourage the youth of today and the youth of tomorrow (that means you!) to make your mothers proud. So, this Mother’s Day, my Badass Auntie wisdom to you, because I know your mother rocks, is to always think to yourself, before you do something, ‘would my Mum be proud of me?’ and if the answer is ‘no’ – go ahead and fucking do it anyway. Life’s too fucking short even to worry about using the word ‘fuck’ too fucking often and if you can’t offend your own mother sometimes, then you’re not doing life right. The thing is to make an effort. You’re bound to fuck it up, just like I did with the swearing thing, but she’ll still love you, cause she’s your Mum.
Much love from your Badass Auntie
You can give even fewer fucks about it being Mother’s Day …whoops, there I go again. You’re a tiny baby and your mother is probably still sore in places she’d rather not be sore from performing giving you life. Many people are lucky enough, like you, to have brilliant mums but not everyone. And only very few people are lucky enough to have a Badass Auntie like me; a childless, animal loving, queer old bag of fun with a Tia thrown in for good measure. One day I’m going to tell you about that Tia. Consider yourself freaking blessed.
Of course there isn’t a special day for Badass Aunties to be celebrated and the truth is that somewhere around the 15th century, we would have been burned as witches, so I suppose things are looking up really. There is, apparently an ‘Aunt & Uncles Day’ on the 26th of July but there’s also an oddly named ‘Aunt & Godmother’s’ Day on the same exact day. Hmmm.
I’m sort of thinking the ‘Aunt & Godmother’ thing might be code for ‘queer old childless women who make kids lives much more fucking (drat!) interesting, but I may just be projecting. So what I’m proposing, to ensure that we get the appreciation we deserve is a Badass Auntie’s 3 day festival. Here’s how I can see the programme running.
Day 1. – Some excellent punk, rock, blues and hip hop music accompanied by a brunch with a ton of food. Delicious food. Maybe someone will have brought along a little bit of weed even though we all claim not to smoke it anymore. We all know that if someone offers us a hit, our compulsions, developed over decades, makes it impossible to refuse. Then a nap. Following the nap, more good music, food, booze and then bedtime about 8.30.
No point in programming days 2 & 3 as it will simply be more of the same except there may be some removing of items of clothing, making out and dancing on tables at some point. Badass Aunties have great intentions, but those intentions tend to wane with wine after 7pm. Please do not even think about making us share sleeping facilities at this festival as we all snore like bulldogs. I look forward to receiving my invitation.
What this highlights is that the setting aside of holidays to celebrate specifically titled family members is great for those who have those family members, or, even better for those who ARE those family member, but it’s not so great for everyone else. Wait a minute. Yes it is. It’s great for the businesses who sell a load of crap on these holidays and make sure that everyone is well guilt tripped into buying said crap.
The concept of ‘motherhood’ is a pretty important one really. None of us would be here without a mother of sorts. As of today, the elusive ‘test tube baby’ is yet to exist and so we need real, human incubators to turn sperms and eggs into living and breathing humans. But that’s where the real commonality between mothers ends and everything else begins. I’m guessing that few people know that Mother’s Day in the USA is not in any way related to other motherhood celebrations that have occurred for thousands of years around the world.
The USA started celebrating Mother’s Day in the early 20th Century and only because an interesting woman, Anna Jarvis, a pacifist devoted to her mother campaigned tirelessly for it. She believed that mothers deserved a special day of recognition for their work in and outside of the home. Of course, it didn’t take long for greedy bastards to exploit the holiday and this really pissed Anna off. She protested and fought against its commercialisation, even getting herself bunged in jail for for disturbing the peace . She did not like the whole gift buying thing. She believed in writing letters. Something I can completely agree with, though Amazon is so frigging convenient. I bet if she’d had Amazon back then, she would have sung a different tune. Never mind.
But motherhood is a strange and mysterious thing. Just because someone grew you in their belly or, even pushed you out of their lady garden hole – ut oh, time for one of my great digressions. The mention of lady gardens reminded me to tell you there is another important celebration – World Nude Gardening Day, conveniently occurring just a day before Mother’s Day this year on the 7th of May.
If anyone fancied buying a combination present for their mother, you can even buy this from Amazon. OK, you might annoy the ghost of Anna, but it’s just so perfect.
Right, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s get back to the whole mothering thing. I’m not a mother. I chose not to be. Some people are not mothers because they couldn’t have kids. Some people are not mothers because they had kids that died. Some people don’t have mothers that are alive or present in their lives. Some people have two mothers. Some people have more than two mothers. Some mothers have penises. Motherhood is not just about popping out childlings. Not at all and so mothers don’t necessarily have to have any blood ties to the children they parent. Quite frankly, I’d say there are a whole lot of people who have birthed humanettes who would never be worthy of the title of ‘mother’. Even though it would appear to be a complicated concept, as you know, your Badass Auntie believes in keeping things simple.
If you love someone like a mother then fucking celebrate them on Mother’s Day. It’s not difficult and if you know someone who is a mother and who has no one to celebrate them, fucking celebrate them too. Fuck. Just celebrate at every fucking opportunity because as I told your brother in my letter to him, life’s too short.
So, my Badass Auntie wisdom for you is to not worry about Mother’s Day because I happen to know that the fact that you exist and are so dang nabit, flippin’, gul durnit, mothersmucking, snassafrazin, shut the front door (my last serious attempt to use alternatives to real swear words) gorgeous, you’re a Mother’s Day gift yourself. As for your brother, he is too, but now he’s of an age where he’ll have to dutifully shop with his father to find a way to support the economy by participating in the capitalistic machine that is Mother’s Day.
Much love from your Badass Auntie