Ok, so this is gonna be a serious post – brace yourselves.
Close your eyes
Who the hell am I kidding. The only time I get serious is when someone tries to take dessert away from me. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, but straight up maul the one that puts you on a diet. You got your permission from me, folks.
Anyway, 2 years ago some bullshit happened.
Mama took us out to get cupcakes (see above for my opinion on sweets). God bless that woman, am I right?
I got a pink strawberry one. With sprinkles. Why? Because I am a GROWN UP.
So the cupcakes turned out to be a red herring. For my readers that don’t know what a red herring is, it’s synonymous with BULLSHIT. The cupcakes were a ruse. A farce. As real as Kim Kardashian’s ass. Yes, I said it. Kim’s cupcakes are pumped full of B.S. and so were the ones my mom bought for us.
Well, they were real cupcakes, but she took us to get dessert for a different reason. A reason that was entirely BULLSHIT. For my readers that don’t know what I mean by bullshit, I mean CANCER. The bullshittiest bullshit in the world. You can quote me on that. She took us to dessert to tell us she had the bullshit.
Mama had cancer. Breast cancer to be exact.
Hearing that news feels like getting your heart ripped out of your chest, smashed by the hairy feet of 500 Hobbits, shat on by an obese elephant, possessed by a demon, and then shoved back with no anesthetics or stitches.
To put it simply, Shit Hurts.
So what’d we do? We planned. We asked what the next steps were, we comforted her, we rallied around her, and we supported her. That is what you were supposed to do right? As loving children, you’re supposed to be there for your mother when she’s not doing too hot. But something was missing.
We found it a bit later when I was discussing it all with my older brother. I thought long and hard about our family dynamic. About me and the way I think, talk, and write. My voice is an aggregate of every conversation I’ve ever had and a majority of my conversations have been with my family.
Let me just tell ya… If you’re interested in meeting a group of the statistically most hateful bitches in the world, come over to my house. I’m the nice on in the family.
What we didn’t do was tackle this issue the only way we knew how. We didn’t make fun of it.
So, I turned to my brother after thinking and asked the question that was on all of our minds…
“Does this mean we can’t tell cancer jokes anymore?”
I know this humor isn’t kosher, nor is it for everyone, but before you get offended, let me just tell you, it is humor that helped us get through everything. In humor is love, and we sure as hell love our mom, therefore we told a bunch of jokes. Every time we felt pain we told a joke. It’s called coping, people.
Here are some of my favs from that time:
1. Whenever mom asked us a question:
“Sorry mom, we don’t know the (C)answer.”
2. On breast cancer itself:
“But mom… wouldn’t you have to actually have boobs to get breast cancer?”
3. On treatment:
“Wow mom… you’re just radiating today.”
My all time fav was from my mom herself. She had just woken up from surgery and the doctor said everything had gone well. Her response was:
“Aw, Damnit. I really liked being put under. Best sleep of my life. No wonder Michael Jackson got addicted to it…”
That’s my mom, guys. As obscene as I am.
But you see, every family has its own way of dealing with hardship. This was ours.
This month is Breast Cancer Awareness month.
So support. Wear pink. Go on walks. Donate. Tell jokes. I don’t really care.
Just don’t let cancer get you down. Cancer is BULLSHIT. The only way to deal with bullshit is to Flush it out of your life and have a little fun.
FYI, if you do know someone with breast cancer, donating is a great way of letting them know you care. www.givewell.org is a great way to find charities that give 100% to causes etc. I know I’d appreciate that.
– See Ya Later, Boobs