Thursday Morning Wood: Late night edition

No one commented last week on how pathetic we are for falling asleep every night on the couch at 11:00 p.m. Did I fail to mention that we usually fall asleep watching "Yo Momma," the Wilmer Valderrama vehicle on MTV where his decidedly un-gay, non foreign-exchange-student actual meathead self parades around the five boroughs looking for guys to make fun of each others' mommas. He'll end up with two guys from two different neighborhoods standing around in a MTVified version of the traditional dozens. The jokes are inevitably either so tired or rendered so nonsensical by the censors that I spend most of the time watching the show astonished that this Wilmer chump is the guy to whom Lindsay Lohan gave the delicate, fiery flower of her virginity. No matter what, the program is a great elixir for sleeplessness.

But last night I was awake on the couch while on the screen Wilmer held his palm to his mouth with his eyes saying, "Oh, I know he didn't just say that horrible thing about that other guy's mother," and there was the other guy's mother standing over there next to him, a plump target in hair curlers. Could she not take her hair curlers out before she went on MTV? I got to wondering, where was her outrage? Now that I'm a fucking mother, I take great offense to all that trash talking. I'm not "so stank" that "my shit is glad to escape out my ass." My shit is happy right where it is, thank you. Why haven't any mommybloggers taken Wilmer to task for perpetuating this heinous species of "humor"? Well, snap, if no one else is going to do it, I'm just going take on the fight myself. And in my corner in this very serious fight, I have the help of one man who don't take no jibba-jabba from none of those fools he pities. Please, for the love of mommas everywhere, watch Mr. T bring it:



In case those snazzily-dressed backup singers distracted you, these are the lyrics he's "rapping":

M is for the moan, and the miserable groan from the pain that she felt when I was born
O is for the oven with it's burnin' heat where she stood makin' sure I had something to eat
T is for the time that she stayed up at night and took my temperature when I wasn't feelin' right
H is for the hard earned money she spent to keep clothes on my back and try to pay da' rent
E is every wrinkle I put on her face and every worry that I caused when I stayed out late
The last letter R is that she taught me Respect and for the room up in Heaven that I know she'll get.

Well, doesn't that just say it all? Hooray for mothers everywhere. There's even a remix. Remember kids, as Mr. T says, "When you put down one mother, you put down mothers all over the world."