I don’t walk around like Sue Sylvester trying to ruin the gleeful, joyous people around me. Rather, I try to be there for my friends and family. But today—today is a Mother Dick kind of day.
Before I get to it, let me thank AMC and The Walking Dead for giving me a word that I can use so effectively to hone in on the glorious reasons why this rant needs to happen. Just like in the episode “Spend” ,I am going to devote my time in this blog to the Mother Dick, in an unrelated-to-the-show Mother Dick fashion. What’s this? Me, unfiltered, and over it all. Not just for me, but for my friends, family and anyone who has a Mother Dick in their life.
Being a Mother Dick isn’t a permanent status. Often one can fluctuate between Mother Dick and various other inclinations. Generally, I’m the friend who talks through things; I play devil’s advocate, and I give advice I would want, advice I believe in and feel is fair. I’m not the friend who’s going to just go along and not consider the other people involved. If you are my friend, you know I won’t always take your side, yet I will stand and be with you.
I am not a Mother Dick, yet I can be. When I am, it’s likely you won’t notice I handed you your ass until after the fact. Right now, I have a lot of things to say because why the Mother Dick not? Douchebags walk around spilling excrement all around me. Let me have a go at it.
First, to the Mother Dick who was dating my best friend: It’s not just me who wants to see you have erectile dysfunction and throw your filthy headboard in a wood chipper. You only wish you were Harrison Ford. Christian Grey? Nope, just a wannabe. Those Egyptian cotton, crazy-high thread count sheets you worried about so much? You know, the ones that—in the Mother Dick fashion you do so well—you kept reminding my BF how much was spent on said sheets, giving her anxiety and me PTSD when I think of Eygptian cotton? Anyway, those sheets that she had to be so careful with are not jack squat without her. You know that moment you said you were dating around but only sleeping with her? You are divorced for Mother Dick logic like that nauseating attempt to not be the swine you are. Did you think that was a compliment? She walked away. I hope the next girl you traumatize on those sheets rags all over them. I’m talking heavy, strawberry, gooey clots all over them. Stop trying to change every woman you are with and thankfully fail at keeping. Again, that is why you are divorced. You are a Mother Dick. If I were her I would have cooked for you. Made you the best creme brûlée and spit in it. Extra special, like the crazy chic from Gone Girl. My friend? She is a woman. At least she had the self-respect to walk away from you.
Second—and forgive me for throwing in my own personal Mother Dick issue—stop asking me what is wrong with me. I am happier being a stay-at-home mom. Is it possible that not working outside the home could mean I am not broken? I no longer want to work for a Fortune 500 company. Bring in the psych team! This woman, wife, mother isn’t taking women’s suffrage back because she chooses to be with her family! Perhaps writing again and running doesn’t make sense for you. That’s great. Mother Dick , you do you. I will do what’s right in my situation.
I am fortunate my Mother Dick already heard an earful about their place on the list however another of my best friends has a gargantuan Mother Dick to address. When you were married and she was putting up with your non-stop Mother Dick you were fine with her being a stay-at-home mom. You were ever so supportive, even good to her at times. However, since you got dumped for not being able to stop your Mother Dick ways, now you think its ok to trash her and try to insinuate yourself into her life and destroy it. Don’t you have another baby with another Mother Dick to mess with? I am sure she could use more of your Mother Dick, but you have no room for anything else in your rectal region. Your butt plugs are waiting. Additionally, I like to run, a lot you dingle berry excreta. I was not allowed to run for a very long time. I keep forgetting you use Web MD for your health problems and medical diagnosis. Mother Dick did you miss the bit where I was in an induced coma and my lung collapsed? One would think that sepsis and hemithorax resulting in endobronchial intubation might cough up a memory or a clue as to why I gained weight, couldn’t run and am still trying to recover. Feel free to look that up on Web MD before your next drug seeking appointment to the doctor. Mother dick, I didn’t self diagnose that.
Third, Let’s get into the moping around bullshit, stop it. Yes, you whiny little Mother Dick, money is tight. Welcome to the recession. So stop ruining my Spring by acting like you need colorectal surgery. I realize you are full of fecal matter and may need an abdominal collectomy , yet I think walking around like the anal fissure you are is giving everyone IBS. For me the IBS is not idiopathic, the cause is clear: Mother Dick. When I wake up pissed, it’s usually because I have dealt with enough of your dejected, doleful no-hope perspective. Additionally, you aren’t going to win any argument by saying, “You must have a crappy life to be so pissed!” No, not everything has to be horrible for me to be upset. You don’t get to tell me I have to be ok with your actions, attitude or self-loathing to get out of an argument that you started. We see things differently. We always have. I see a storm as the disaster coming, and I look forward to reparation. You look at the storm and just see annihilation, wreckage, disintegration. You have no idea how to mitigate a disaster—just how to create one.
Mother Dick, this is the fourth segment: Stop dating my friends if you are going to go flip-flopping like a politician. You are not the House Whip, and no Kevin Spacey. Saying things like: I don’t know what I want. You deserve better. I think you want more than I can give you. Stop saying those things. We know it’s not them. It’s you! Plus, it is so boring. Mother Dick, no one, not even your friends is interested in your little Mother Dick lines anymore. No one wants to hear that. You know why? Because every single time you say it we all think, “Then why does this Mother Dick keep groveling back.” Haven’t you heard assumption is the Mother Dick of all mistakes? You assume half of what you think the other person wants, because you are a Mother Dick. Mother Dick, you are a douche. Start using yourself like the tool you are. Start by draping yourself with bath blankets and water proof pads. I hear Egyptian cotton is amazing, make sure you grab those. Next insert your middle finger into your ear. Shove it into your brain. I would suggest anesthesia but, being a Mother Dick, you can’t feel things anyway. Take a deep breath, slow and deep, while gradually inserting that middle finger. Penetrate. Loosen the hardened fecal mass you call a brain. Get that excrement out. And don’t forget the importance of hand hygiene. You can rest at intervals; Egyptian cotton sheets are ready.
Fifth, Mother Dick, sometimes when the person you’re dating makes plans or invites you to dinner and then later asks you to work out, it’s because he or she worked out already before you were in the picture and you acted like you were stoked and ready for the cover of a fitness magazine. I know this may be hard to process with all that fecal matter that has replaced the meninges in your brain, but perhaps he or she actually enjoys your company enough to work out with you. Mother Dick, could it be possible that when you discussed your desire to get healthier and push yourself , maybe you were heard and believed (have you seen looked at him/her)? Working out isn’t a passing fancy for this friend. No one is calling you fat by inviting you to the gym. If you had paid attention you would have caught on to the fact that it is about being healthy and strong. No one has time to manage a Mother Dick. Probably said person is in training for an MMA fight, marathon, or maybe just likes to work out. Did you not notice that when you started dating? Mother Dick, really? I think it is even in the “About Me” section on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and whatever social site you glanced over when changing your relationship status to “It’s Complicated.” Getting dumped because of your Mother Dick mood swings and tantrums is as straightforward as can be, not complicated. If I was British, I could use wanker so much better here. Taylor Swift is right; you can be that person for a month, and when the worst comes, you are going to get dumped because you have no idea how to be real. You want a relationship that lasts? Try not playing games. That’s such a Mother Dick line of thinking. Start growing up and figuring out that you can be both independent and vulnerable.
Finally, I have no coffee. Where is my coffee? My Mother Dick, I have to go to Starbucks now. Have a great Mother Dick kind of day. I hope your day is wonderful so you can feel like the nasty emesis, foul, loathsome, penetrating Mother Dick you are. Glitter bomb? No way. Mother Dick, I am going to send you an enema kit, some douche bags and colonics. Do I have to spell it out? You expect an F- bomb right now, Mother Dick? You don’t get it. You know why? Because I think you are wondering if this is about you. If you are, then yes, it is absolutely about you. I don’t need to throw in the universal sign language here. I more than implied what a Mother Dick should do to themselves right now.
To my friends: you likely recognize the various Mother Dicks I am discussing. I am sorry, but you know I can’t let a Mother Dick roam around unchecked. That is how an epidemic starts.