Motherfucker of the Month: May
Late again on the Motherfucker of the Month. I’m sorry. But you know what? Live with it.
So I’m sitting here with a bad case of pizza mouth, which drives me up more than a couple of walls and I’m thinking: who has wronged me enough this month to earn the distinction, nay, the honour, of winning the most prestigious award on the internet, the MFOTM.
And then just like that, it came to me. There is this guy in Chicago who is the most delinquent piece of shit in existence. He can’t hold a job. He can’t pay his bills on time. His girlfriend is constantly pissed off at him. His ex-girlfriend is even angrier at him. His mother calls in tears at least once a week wondering when he’ll drag his sorry ass home.
We’ll call this man Miguel, for that is his name. Miguel has never been able to hold a job for more than a month or so. He has terrible credit. He is one of those people who defaulted on their sub-prime mortgage. Just reading all that information makes the steam come out of my ears. I hate people like that, but I don’t motherfucking hate them.
But I have Miguel’s phone.
No, I din’t steal it or find it or anything like that. When I bought a Chicago phone, the number that was assigned to me used to be Miguel’s. So, every day, this group of creditors, debtors, mothers, girlfriends and angry bosses call me. And they don’t believe me when I tell them that Miguel, the biggest, steamiest turd in the 312 area code, no longer has the phone.
Way to go, Miguel, you’re the winner of this month’s challenge. You beat out some real competition this week and you should be proud. The Motherfucker of the Month award will be waiting for you whenever you want it.
Call me; you know the number, bitch.