Mother’s Day will always have a double meaning
Mother’s Day should be a happy day we take time out of our lives to recognize the beautiful women that brought us into this world. A time when we stop thinking about ourselves and give thanks to the lady that carried us around in her belly and (hopefully) did her best to give us the best life she could. I’m lucky, or at least I feel lucky. My mom, regardless of all her faults and quirks, means everything to me. At different times in my life she has been the best friend I needed, the teller of truths I didn’t want to hear, and the cheerleader rooting me on. As this Mother’s Day approaches and I prepare to send her the obligatory card, some flowers and call her on the phone, it is hard for me to completely make this day all about her.
What I’m about to tell you is something that only a hand full of people in my life know, and has always been somewhat of a hard subject for me to talk about, mostly because of the incredible shame that I have felt surrounding it. Eleven years ago, on Mother’s Day back in 2002, my Aunt alerted police after my father failed to show up at my Grandmother’s house and was not answering his phone. The following day, my father’s body was discovered by police in his apartment.
He had committed suicide as he lay in his bed.
The feelings that came over me as I received the news were of shock, anger, and utter sadness. I spent most of the day crying into the arms of a girl I just met. (always a turn-on) As I write this, a flood of memories comes into my head and it is hard not to well up. But I write this not for sympathy, or for condolences, but instead to break free from the shackles his suicide has placed on me for all these years. I also hope that by sharing my story, someone in pain considering ending their life will read this and recognize that suicide is truly selfish and hurts more people than they will ever know. It’s like ripples in a pond that the thrown pebble can’t see and isn’t worth it.
I won’t go into all the sordid family details, but an entire season of Jerry Springer could focus merely on my dad. My relationship with my father was in no way a healthy one. In fact, I spent several years away from him when I moved to South Florida to finish college and stay with my mom. When people asked about him, I would say he was dead. In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t done that, but the betrayal of a child’s trust by a parent is more devastating than we realize. While away at my first year of college in Illinois, my father had not only stolen my tax return but opened up several credit cards in my name and proceeded to max them all out. When confronted with the evidence of his wrongs, my father made me feel as though I had done something wrong and told me never to come home again.
I was destroyed.
So I moved away to South Florida and tried to move on with my life knowing there was this giant void and a man I could no longer talk to about things at a time when a young man needs his father most. It’s hard being a good father. I get that. From what I’ve been told, his father was an abusive alcoholic just like him, and my dad simply chose not to rise above it. I’ve tried my best to be a better man than my father ever was, and while I’ve made mistakes, I try my best to own up to them and right the wrongs. Which is where we differ I suppose. I won’t let history repeat itself.
My parents had divorced several years earlier, yet my mother, the compassionate and caring woman she is, still felt sadness for the death of the man who from what I can remember treated her like garbage for 22 years. Verbal abuse, physical abuse, and dishonesty seemed to be something my father had gone to graduate school for and received a PhD in Administering Pain with honors.
I won’t make excuses for him. After years away, I returned home to Chicago, and reached out, trying to rekindle some sort of relationship with a man that I could no longer trust and struggled to understand or love. For him, it was already to late. He had begun to come to terms with alienating all three of his children, all of the hurt he had allowed his alcoholism and what I believe to be undiagnosed depression and how it affected the rest of his family and few friends he had left.
“I should have seen it coming.”
Lots of people say this after a suicide. I did. He began offering me his belongings saying he “wouldn’t be needing them anymore.” I was too wrapped up in my own anger to listen. So, here we are. One 22-caliber round to the temple later. The police were kind enough to leave the apartment exactly the way they found it, blood soaked mattress, splattered wall and all. It’s an image I will never forget.
This brings us back to my mother. In the years that I was with her in South Florida, she supported me in good times and bad and even when I was a shithead, she wouldn’t push me away, knowing that I didn’t have that father figure in my life. Whether she knows it or not, she was my rock, my safe place away from him. If you’re wondering where the weirdo gene comes from, it’s her. I love my mother for doing the work of two parents and for never sacrificing her own happiness when she’d rather be somewhere else.
Cliché or not, life is precious and a work in progress. Some people catch on faster than others, but giving up when things get tough when so many get second and third chances, seems to me like the real failure. I realize it wasn’t my fault, and that we can’t torture ourselves for the decisions of others. The shame I felt was unnecessary and I didn’t want to be judged by father’s weakness. So I hid it. I’m done hiding. I’m owning it, because it’s part of who I am. I don’t miss my father as much as I miss the person I wished he could have been.
I am not ashamed to admit that I suffer from depression myself, and thankfully receive treatment for it after years of pretending I didn’t need to. I want to be better than my father and with the love of my mother and family and the willingness to recognize I can’t do it by myself, I think I already am.
This is how I will choose to remember him.
I remembered why America is great
It’s easy to get cynical these days, and by many accounts most of the people I know are naturally cynical by nature of being comedians. On Monday, April 16th, somebody thought it was a good idea to ruin a day that 25,000 people had already decided to voluntarily put themselves in pain on, by adding a couple of bombs in some garbage cans.
The aftermath included what can only be described as what is the best of humanity: strangers donating blood after completing the 26 mile race, getting help for victims, and sending their hopes and prayers for all of those affected.
As expected, the open-membership collective known as the online Internet community weighed in almost immediately. There were the people who thought they should make tasteless jokes, those who thought they should scold and police thoughts, and others who simply shared their disbelief that a day meant to celebrate the human spirit was seemingly trampled on for what appears to be no reason at all.
We all respond to tragedy like this in our own way, and personally it made me have flashbacks to 9/11 coverage. I was overcome with emotion that included sadness and anger. However, what made me even more upset were the people telling others how to feel.
“Turn off your TV’s, unless you want to watch the same footage over and over again”
“Cue every one to chime in with their two cents about Boston”
“I’m going off Twitter. Let me know when everyone calms down”
The good news is, as individuals, we can do and say whatever we want provided it falls within the laws we have all agreed on are in everyone’s best interest, or that you are okay with everyone thinking you are a completely opinionated asshole that only think of his/herself.
We all react in different ways and at times like this should band together and try to be positive and believe in the ideal that America is still the best place in the world to live. It’s easy to forget that sometimes. Patriotism gets a bad rap from people living in Urban areas. The notion of America seems foreign to a lot of us because we haven’t fought for it and essentially inherited the freedoms that our relative’s died for.
When something happens like it did in Boston, it resets us. I was reminded by the heroism and bravery showed by average citizens and authorities why as much as I dream us traveling the world, I know that America is my home and I’m proud to be here.
So evil will always rear it’s ugly head, but it can only put dents in the power of good. And dents can be hammered out.
Let’s all remember to be thankful for what freedoms and opportunities we are afforded here and take it easy on each other. We don’t have to like everything others do, but we also can choose not to let it affect us and just be good human beings…as tough as that may be for some.
Sex with Bradley Cooper: My mom won’t stop talking about it
No matter what age you are, you never want to ever hear your mom talk about her sex life, people she finds attractive, or anything remotely related to mating rituals. I would like to ask Silver Linings Playbook star and 2013 Oscar nominee Bradley Cooper to do me a big favor and go off the grid for a little while so my mom can calm down, compose herself and stop talking about what she would do him if she ever had him cornered in a dark alley.
Firstly, I would ask that my mom refrain from hanging around in dark alley’s, but even more disturbing is that she would pick a dumpster lined rat corridor as the place she would defile him. It makes me really wonder what she does on the weekends. Perhaps I’m being too literal. Or maybe she’s my mom and I don’t want her talking about anybody that way. Especially about the person who she chooses to consistently compare me to.
“Bradley Cooper’s been in more comedic films than you and he isn’t even a comedian.” “Why aren’t you as successful as Bradley Cooper” “He’s so sexy. Those muscles haven’t seen a carb in years.” “Bradley Cooper is handsome enough to reverse my menopause.” Okay, that’s enough, lady!!!
Maybe if you would’ve given me a better genetic head start, perhaps other moms would be comparing THEIR sons to ME. This is YOUR fault. Am I unconventionally handsome? You bet I am. I like to think I am like smoking cigarettes. I taste terrible for weeks until you get addicted and crave my flavor.
Look, the point is Mr. Cooper, your successes in The Hangover I, II, and upcoming III, along with being in one of the top films of 2012 is turning my mom into a sex crazed lunatic that won’t stop talking about your abs, your face, and your perfect teeth. I’ll never know the full extent of her desires because I cut her off the moment a conversation begins to steer it’s way back to you and your dripping wet sex appeal. For now I have bigger fish to fry with my therapist. Specifically why my mom keeps comparing me to a person she has a disturbing mom crush on.
Bradley, please do me a favor and go away. Oh, and I’m glad you didn’t win an Oscar. I would’ve never hear the end of it.
Former Playmate Holly Madison Designs ‘Thong Diaper’ for new baby
It’s never too late to get a head start on planning your baby’s career, especially if you want it to work in the field of adult entertainment. Former Playboy Playmate and “exhibitionist” Holly Madison is launching a new line of thong diapers in preparation for the birth of her unborn baby girl, according to reports.
The new line of risqué diapers are being called, Peek-a-Poo© and according to Madison are sure to show of your baby’s “ass-ests”.
“I want my girl to know early on that giving men peeks at your juicy cheeks is another way you can earn money,” she tells HAHAJK. “It doesn’t matter if she won’t know how to talk yet, her rockin’ newborn body will take care of all that.”
The Peek-a-Poo© thong diaper line will come in a variet of colors and cuts to make your baby feel the sexiest. Colors will include red, pink, black and white, while patterns will consist of bunnies having sex, piggies having sex, and puppies and kittens 69-ing.
“Madison says her former fiancé Hugh Hefner the value of using her body for money and celebrity and if she passes anything on to her child, she wants it to be that. Madison added, “I have large breasts.”
The Art of Writing an Asshole YouTube Comment
It’s 2 a.m. and you are trolling around the Internet when suddenly a particular You Tube video doesn’t sit too well with you.
You have to comment on it.
Unfortunately, you don’t know how. For starters, you have no idea what to insult first, or even how to begin. The good news is HAHAJK.com is here to help
Beware of YouTube trollsyou sort through all of the mess and get you sh*tting on the dreams of others in no time! It I actually pretty easy once you get the basics.
1. Set up a profile that can never be linked back to you – Let’s face it, you’re no hero - just a big dumb coward with some strong baseless opinions interlaced with lots of swear words. Pick something that embodies how classless and clueless you are with your taste in music or lifestyle. (i.e – limpbisquizkfan87, chronicblunt94, dopzgstring5, nggr4life)
2. Forget everything you know about spelling and punctuation – You have a lot of videos to comment on and not a lot of time, so you can forget about completing sentences, thoughts, and the years of English classes you most likely failed at. The more misspellings there are, the more people will understand how mad that video made you. (i.e. yo dis shiiit is so stoopidz,.’/ suck my big ballz chumpa pumpa snicker beets rule!)
3. Scour YouTube for the most harmless videos, and touching family moments to verbally barf on — High school graduation footage, a grandfather’s 80th birthday, or kittens in a basket. It doesn’t matter, pick something that everyone likes except for you and let loose. The more swear words the better. (i.e. Stoopd ole man birfday. He can blow me when he dun)
4. Engage other people and their comments – It doesn’t matter how wrong you are if you ignore the logic of people’s sound and well structured arguments. Keep barraging them with direct insults. (i.e. shut yer beotch face up punk-ass fukin gaynutz)
5. Never post any of your own material – that would set you up as a target for someone just like you! You might even be tempted to shit on your own videos. Who knows what you would do because you are so unpredictable. Also you would want people thinking you are one of those “dumb ass p*ssy bitches” that actually make things and are creative.
Now get out there and ruin somebody’s day!
