Posts
The origin of Mother's Day has always been a mystery. Many theorists say aliens brought along the holiday from their distant universe. Others will argue that Vladimir Lenin conjured up the idea while implementing communism in Russia. The misguided suggest it's just a nice gesture toward the ones who gave birth to us. I'm here to tell you all those theories are wrong. So wrong, in fact, that the truth must be revealed to you before we all drown in a sea of fallaciousness.
The year was 1903. The bustling town of St. Louis lay in the mid-west as a beacon to those who feared oceans and opportunity. In those early years of the 20th century, St. Louis was not the unglamorous, under-achieving city that it is today. Actually it was; it just didn't have that fancy arch.
Donald Mother was a local businessman who took residence in St. Louis. He was a simple man, with hopes and dreams for the future. He was a thinker and a self-proclaimed inventor. He even took credit for thinking up the automobile. But, alas, Donald Mother was a nobody and therefore no one believed his incoherent rambles about engine parts and combustion chambers. In reality, Donald Mother was the biggest crack-pot in St. Louis.
Mother lived in the attic of the mayor of St. Louis, unbeknownst to the mayor himself. Donald was a near hobo, though he was never classified as such since he technically had a home. But the general public and even the mayor believed he slept in cardboard boxes in the humid allies of town. Mother didn't own a razor, so shaving was rare. But he tried to keep himself presentable by stuffing his overgrown facial hair into his shirt. The townspeople appreciated this gesture.
When he wasn't making up conspiracy theories of stolen inventions and Nazi treasure hunting, he sold used mattresses downtown. Like all nobodies, he dreamed of owning his very own used mattress store. He had a thirst for the good life: Bottomless molasses barrels, a brick home, and a German Sheppard he could call his own. Mother knew that to achieve his hopes and dreams, he would need to work his way up the used mattress corporate ladder.
Mother wasn't the best used mattress salesman. On the contrary, he was quite bad at his job. On many occasions he had given away used mattresses to unsure customers. In defense, he claimed they'd be back since they now had used mattress experience. Although he was costing the company hundreds of dollars, management refused to fire Mother for fear of backlash from the hobo community. Instead, Mother was kept at the bottom rung of the ladder where he would do the least amount of damage to the company.
However, when esteemed Director of Personnel Horace McThomas decided to retire early at age sixty-three, management needed to find a replacement. Without a successor in place, Donald Mother was named temporary Director of Personnel until one could be found. Mother was elated. Finally, he was working he way to the top.
But, like all men who seek power, Mother became mad with authority. He ordered that there be a no-selling selling policy. Mother said that without their used mattresses, people would become desperate for them; and once the policy was lifted, sleep-deprived zombies would flood the store seeking a mattress someone had already slept on. The policy was immediately rejected, and Mother was crushed.
That night, Mother went to the local tavern to drown his sorrows. After several hours of constant alcohol consumption, Mother decided to go home. Drunk out of his mind, he stumbled down the dark streets of St. Louis with an unfinished bottle of booze in his hand. A child waited on a street corner to help the needy cross the road. When the child asked Mother if he needed a hand, Mother broke the glass bottle on a lamp post and threatened the child's life with the jagged shards. Frightened and soiled, the child ran for his life.
Mother arrived at home, the mayor's house, and entered loudly. Trying his best to be stealthy, Mother crept along the foyer toward the stairs. After three steps, he fell over and crashed into the various priceless vases and pottery the mayor owned. When the concerned mayor and his family entered the foyer and found Donald Mother lying atop the broken artifacts, they called for the police. Mother looked up into the eyes of the mayor's startled children. "No one respects Mother," he mumbled. The police arrived and gathered Mother to take him to the station. Mother was put into a jail cell, where he would be dealt with the next day.
When morning came and the cops arrived at the jail to talk to Mother, they discovered his cell was empty. All that remained was the former facial hair of the used mattress salesman. Bewildered, investigators decided the case of the drunken hobo was closed.
No one knows what happened to Donald Mother in that cell. Many have tried to put the pieces of the legend together. Some have claimed that aliens came down and abducted Mother, shaving him before taking him to their home planet made of cream cheese (These are not the same aliens as the ones suspected of bringing the Mother’s Day holiday to Earth. Scientists speculate those aliens’ home world would be made of hugs). Other stories tell of the children of the mayor releasing Mother in the middle of the night, shaving him so no one would recognize him any longer. Whatever the case, the events of that night will forever live in infamy.
Years later, during the Great Depression, the mayor’s son was elected into Congress. Within the first week of his tenure, the mayor's son proposed a new holiday to boost morale the people of America. In his proposal, he stated, "No one respects Mother." Members of Congress saw this as an excellent opportunity for children everywhere to be forced to do nice things for the women who gave birth to them. The date of the holiday would be the second Sunday in May, chosen by the mayor's son for the day of the Donald Mother incident (He didn't remember the exact date, so the second Sunday in May was just an educated guess).
The year was 1903. The bustling town of St. Louis lay in the mid-west as a beacon to those who feared oceans and opportunity. In those early years of the 20th century, St. Louis was not the unglamorous, under-achieving city that it is today. Actually it was; it just didn't have that fancy arch.
Donald Mother was a local businessman who took residence in St. Louis. He was a simple man, with hopes and dreams for the future. He was a thinker and a self-proclaimed inventor. He even took credit for thinking up the automobile. But, alas, Donald Mother was a nobody and therefore no one believed his incoherent rambles about engine parts and combustion chambers. In reality, Donald Mother was the biggest crack-pot in St. Louis.
Mother lived in the attic of the mayor of St. Louis, unbeknownst to the mayor himself. Donald was a near hobo, though he was never classified as such since he technically had a home. But the general public and even the mayor believed he slept in cardboard boxes in the humid allies of town. Mother didn't own a razor, so shaving was rare. But he tried to keep himself presentable by stuffing his overgrown facial hair into his shirt. The townspeople appreciated this gesture.
When he wasn't making up conspiracy theories of stolen inventions and Nazi treasure hunting, he sold used mattresses downtown. Like all nobodies, he dreamed of owning his very own used mattress store. He had a thirst for the good life: Bottomless molasses barrels, a brick home, and a German Sheppard he could call his own. Mother knew that to achieve his hopes and dreams, he would need to work his way up the used mattress corporate ladder.
Mother wasn't the best used mattress salesman. On the contrary, he was quite bad at his job. On many occasions he had given away used mattresses to unsure customers. In defense, he claimed they'd be back since they now had used mattress experience. Although he was costing the company hundreds of dollars, management refused to fire Mother for fear of backlash from the hobo community. Instead, Mother was kept at the bottom rung of the ladder where he would do the least amount of damage to the company.
However, when esteemed Director of Personnel Horace McThomas decided to retire early at age sixty-three, management needed to find a replacement. Without a successor in place, Donald Mother was named temporary Director of Personnel until one could be found. Mother was elated. Finally, he was working he way to the top.
But, like all men who seek power, Mother became mad with authority. He ordered that there be a no-selling selling policy. Mother said that without their used mattresses, people would become desperate for them; and once the policy was lifted, sleep-deprived zombies would flood the store seeking a mattress someone had already slept on. The policy was immediately rejected, and Mother was crushed.
That night, Mother went to the local tavern to drown his sorrows. After several hours of constant alcohol consumption, Mother decided to go home. Drunk out of his mind, he stumbled down the dark streets of St. Louis with an unfinished bottle of booze in his hand. A child waited on a street corner to help the needy cross the road. When the child asked Mother if he needed a hand, Mother broke the glass bottle on a lamp post and threatened the child's life with the jagged shards. Frightened and soiled, the child ran for his life.
Mother arrived at home, the mayor's house, and entered loudly. Trying his best to be stealthy, Mother crept along the foyer toward the stairs. After three steps, he fell over and crashed into the various priceless vases and pottery the mayor owned. When the concerned mayor and his family entered the foyer and found Donald Mother lying atop the broken artifacts, they called for the police. Mother looked up into the eyes of the mayor's startled children. "No one respects Mother," he mumbled. The police arrived and gathered Mother to take him to the station. Mother was put into a jail cell, where he would be dealt with the next day.
When morning came and the cops arrived at the jail to talk to Mother, they discovered his cell was empty. All that remained was the former facial hair of the used mattress salesman. Bewildered, investigators decided the case of the drunken hobo was closed.
No one knows what happened to Donald Mother in that cell. Many have tried to put the pieces of the legend together. Some have claimed that aliens came down and abducted Mother, shaving him before taking him to their home planet made of cream cheese (These are not the same aliens as the ones suspected of bringing the Mother’s Day holiday to Earth. Scientists speculate those aliens’ home world would be made of hugs). Other stories tell of the children of the mayor releasing Mother in the middle of the night, shaving him so no one would recognize him any longer. Whatever the case, the events of that night will forever live in infamy.
Years later, during the Great Depression, the mayor’s son was elected into Congress. Within the first week of his tenure, the mayor's son proposed a new holiday to boost morale the people of America. In his proposal, he stated, "No one respects Mother." Members of Congress saw this as an excellent opportunity for children everywhere to be forced to do nice things for the women who gave birth to them. The date of the holiday would be the second Sunday in May, chosen by the mayor's son for the day of the Donald Mother incident (He didn't remember the exact date, so the second Sunday in May was just an educated guess).
And the rest, as they say, is history. Though the meaning of Mother's Day is sometimes misleading, the sorrow one young boy felt for a drunken hobo immortalized the second Sunday in May. When Mother's Day rolls around next year, listen closely to your used mattress and you can hear the intoxicated mumbles of Donald Mother repeating, "No one respects Mother."
0 comments:
Post a Comment