I use two toothbrushes. One is for my anus, though I can never remember which one. Both toothbrushes belong to my mother-in-law, so I’m incentivized to be forgetful.
When describing myself, I don’t use superlatives. Just normal latives. And if I use the same word more than once to describe myself, it’s a relative. This is how I became my own father. And mother.
I sympathize with a mother who has three mouths to feed—especially if two of those mouths are on her face. With a woman like that I’d listen twice as hard for doublespeak. I’m pretty accustomed to picking up on political rhetoric.
I love how sincere she is. She makes a mannequin look like Mother Theresa, though she looks better naked. And I hope she thinks I look better naked than a dead woman.
My mother-in-law got so angry at me she vowed she’d never speak to me again, and I smiled and gave thanks for the little miracle God worked in my life.
I’m as efficient as a fish ant, I’m as mythical as a productive government employee, and I’m the kind of lover your mother would approve of. Ask her—she’ll tell you how good I am in bed.
I wonder: instead of retreating and hiding, instead of pining for the way it was, what if I accept the way it is? This strikes me as both the most obvious thing in the world and the most profound.
He told me he had a wife and daughter, and then he showed me a picture of an 8-year-old girl, to which I said, “Don’t you think she’s a bit too young to be a wife and mother?” Fucking pedophiles.
She wondered what he really saw when he looked at her. God, she hoped she didn’t look like his mother or anything. That would be veering into a Hitchcock shower scene that she really didn’t want to be the star of.
Those who have witnessed executions say there is no sound worse than the weeping of mother watching her son being put to death. They're wrong. There is one sound that is worse. There is silence.
The benevolent gentleman is sorry; but, then, the thing happens every day! One sees girls and mothers crying at these sales, always! it can't be helped, etc.; and he walks off, with his acquisition, in another direction.
Did I come into this world thru the womb of my mother the earth just so I could talk and write like everybody else?
Mother Goose! I have never much cared for flippant remarks, especially when others make them, and in particular, I don't give a frog's fundament for them when they come from an adult.
...I could feel her burrowing into my heart. I didn't know if the burrowing was like a kitten cuddling up to its mother or if it was like a chigger depositing its larvae underneath the skin of my ankles.
It's all right. I'm not upset. After all, they were just . When you've lost your mother and your father, you can't care so much about , can you?
I thought of my mother as Queen Christina, cool and sad, eyes trained on some distant horizon. That was where she belonged, in furs and palaces of rare treasures, fireplaces large enough to roast a reindeer, ships of Swedish maple.
Son, my dad said, every man needs a bitter, resentful woman in his life. Because there's nothing more touching to a mother's heart than to know that her son thinks of her constantly.
Shut up, Arthur,' said my mother, and he zipped his mouth shut like an infuriating child. Ginger started to laugh. Not at anything in particular, but just because Ginger was stoned.
I'm an expert on one-armed Herdazian jokes. 'Lopen,' my mother always says, 'you must learn these to laugh before others do. Then you steal the laughter from them, and have it all for yourself.
When I said, “I am my mother, but I’m not,” I was saying my path would be my own.
My mother told me that truth is like my skin, a beautiful, protective covering, and the things that people say or do can be easily changed or discarded. She told me truth comes from the heart.
