It's Way Too Expensive to Pay for Your Food, and also my Alcohol.
An open Letter From a Mother to Her Son.

By Diane Pillson - Local Clinique Saleswoman/ Waitress
Originally Published in her son's room, taped to one of his many broken toys.

Can't we be adults about this? Honestly, you're acting like a big old turd. How do you do, His Turdliness? King of Turds. If you're so hungry, Mr. high and mighty 9 year old, then explain to me how you have all this energy to complain with? Nobody likes you when you're like this. When you're all, "Oh I wish we had some rice or even just a cracker, my teeth are so soft sometimes I swallow them." Remember those crackerjacks I gave you? That was less than a week ago. It's not my fault as I was handing them to you I ate them. Although I do regret making a slam-dunk noise, and then gloating.

Listen, we're going to be kind of tight for awhile- because Mommy's tips aren't what they used to be, because Mommy's customers are all a bunch of heaps and Mommy isn't going to sit there and not smoke over their food, which if you'd read the constitution for a minute you'd know is an inalienable right, Mommy surmises.

I know, listen, I'm hungry too. But being a waitress/ the number seven Clinique saleswoman in the greater Folsom county area takes it's toll on Mommy. So Mommy
needs to take little personal vacations when she's not working, and those vacations consist of laying spread eagle in the cat's litterbox and sipping spilled vodka off
the kitchen floor while calling out to a God who isn't there. You had better not judge me. I think I've had a beernut caught under my left eyelid for over a week.
It's not what you think. It's because I was pounding my face onto a cup of beernuts because I resent myself so much. We've all been there, am
I right girls? I sold your pillowcases to buy sedatives. Why don't you hug me you look like a goddamn beagle I swear to God you're a beagle. I wish you would call me Diane instead of Mommy.

I'm sorry you're hungry, that's why I tried to catch the neighbor's parrot. But I think it gave me a jungle sickness, because it bit my pinky, and now
I can throw up at a moment's notice. Try me. I found a carrot in the cellar, it might of been there for a while. I was going to leave it in your room, with this note, but then instead of that, I tried to ferment it into beer. Which I'm sure other women my age have done. Because we don't get our periods any more, which is also why I told you I wished you were a keg of everclear, or a wet dildo shaped like Kevin Costner, which in hindsight, as you are my son and a child, is something I should have said on the inside. I may not be mother of the year this year, but every car accident I've been in you weren't in the car, so put that
in your pipe and smoke it. Although there was that car accident where I ran into a car that you were in. Ain't nobody perfect. I sold your dog to buy a pregnancy test.



Kevin Costner knows how to bring it.