The Difference between My Mom and Yours: A Stark Contrast

Note: This was a paper that I wrote for a class that I was never enrolled in. My room mate at the time submitted it annonymously for me. The paper is as follows:

The Difference between My Mom and Yours: A Stark Contrast

In looking at the various differences between humans in nature, the differences are plain to see to those with the naked eye. While the common man can spot the differences between other humans just by employing the thought process, taking two individuals and examining them together produces a stark contrast that may shock and perhaps amaze observers up to the task.

Take for example, the difference between my mom and yours. My mother is a fairly conservative woman who is also independent and has many rewarding qualities. Your mother on the other hand, is a dirty cockmongling whore dependant on her pimp to give direction in her life.

My mother has a job, though nothing that is as disgusting as the employment your mother has chosen. My mother wakes up early for the common 9 to 5 schedule, employs the same tasks day to day to ensure that her given objectives are complete before the day is done. The slut you lovingly refer to as ‘mom’ on the other hand wakes up every day in strange places, and is forced to sucks dick for a ride back into town where her workday will begin. She has a wide array of varied tasks that change from day to day. Whether its sucking cocks, doing anal, or fucking someone in the dirty men’s stall in the local eatery, your mother has all the bases covered for any task her customer might need, no matter how abstract or degrading.

My mother is happily married to a man with a respectable job. He travels day-to-day doing various tasks, employed and paid through the almighty tax dollar. Your mother is not married, but her deadbeat boyfriend does support her seven illegitimate children by selling crack cocaine on various street corners throughout the tri-state area while simultaneously evading local authorities. Though he might not make enough to support all of her children, your mother’s meager income supports the rest of the family needs. After a long day of fucking plunger handles in front of webcams and being bent over various bathroom appliances, your mother returns to her pimp, Dopetastic Bootywrangler III, who questions your mother’s daily take with a firm slap in the face. He then takes his fee, and shoves her out of his tricked out suburban back onto on the streets to go pick up his next big score. These methods are obviously not something my mother would tolerate, as one examining the situation can plainly see.

The comparisons go on and on, but through this simple examination, we have learned that through an examination of both my mother and yours that they are nothing alike. My mother is a kind, independent woman, happily married while your mother is a sick, twisted degraded whore who loves taking it in the cinnamon ring whenever she can get it, and that bitch doesn’t even get PAID. And that concludes my examination of my mother and the filthy, disease ridden cumdumpster you call your mother.

What is LA Like?

I cringe at the edge of the street, watching as self-important twatwaffles walk by with their upscale merch firmly gripped in one hand, while the other is used to hold a cell phone to their faces, spitting psychobabble into it about how their wealthy lives in upper-suburbia are spiraling out of control. From behind me the distinct clip-clop of high heels seizes me with fear as this creature looms over me, artificially heightened by her heels and trussed up hair. Her dull, listless gaze meets mine only for a moment and she attempts a smile, but it is blocked by her botox injected lips, and her plastic, readjusted face does not facilitate such emotions visually. Like soulless dolls they trudge about, touting accessory kits and worthless garbage in expensive bags, doused in makeup ordered from the far reaches of a dreadful cosmetics chain, scooped and applied from an industrial tub caking their face with layers and layers of toxic waste suffocating their own skin to a ghoulish grey tint cleverly disguised with spray on tans. the scent of hairspray and bad perfume assault the senses, even in the street you can smell them. They walk about like hollow shells, too self-absorbed and worry some about the fabricated mask they wear, they spend countless hours in front of the mirror, yet do not realize that they appear more like paintings from a distant past, far from any sort of reality, far from the image they envision in their minds. They appear sub-human to me, abnormal to the fullest extent. nothing relatable springs to mind, thus conversation is mind-numbing on a scale immeasurable.

This mind boggling display of fakery is not reserved solely for the women, much to the contrary, the men are just as horrendous, if not worse then the gender opposite. They strut about, blissfully ignorant of the laughter that must befall them behind their backs. Designer jeans hug their figure tight at the waist and ankles, leaving no breathing room for any genitals tightly crammed in them, elevating their vocal pitch several octaves. They adorn shirts 3 sizes too small, usually with the collar popped, and hair slicked up and stuck in place with styling gel or something sticky of that sort. They roam in packs, yet they all look the same. They talk about their clubs and friends with an all-important smugness, nose pointed directly north at all times. While they roam the streets often, you can usually find them hanging about the same clothing and cosmetics chains as the females, not hunting for the opposite sex, but shopping for similar cosmetic needs. There is hardly any muscle on them to speak of, or any fat for that matter. These things subsequently blur the line between the genders, and for me, I no longer classify them in that manner, I classify them together as an entirely new species that I can only hope becomes endangered or extinct in the not-too-distant future.

The landscape these creatures dwell in is also foreign in nature. The dense cloud of smog hugs the ground tightly, the sun shines through it painting the world around us a pale yellow color akin to urine. The heat makes the dry, brittle plants shrivel and turn the setting into nothing more than bland shades of brown and grey. It isn't abnormal for it to be set ablaze by the dry heat, and the fires rage very near to the homes of stubborn imbeciles more concerned with their material possessions than their physical safety, and they refuse to move out of the path of the approaching firestorm. The firefighters valiantly control the blaze, burning the mountaintops to ensure the fire doesn't make a second appearance, however the rains, though rare, will undoubtedly spawn mudslides in the same region where homes are built...the same place where people chose to have dwellings built to call their homes. This is nothing compared to the massive rumblings of the earth itself, as the ground quakes somewhat frequently, rocking the surrounding areas with such a destructive force that wrecks everything in its path without pity or remorse. Yet, strangely, through all this danger, devastation, and decimation, people seek to live their lives here, and bring children into the world here, and seek employment here...why any person would choose to dwell here considering the potential destructive consequences is truly a testament to the ignorance of the people that surround me.

When asked what LA is like, this small offering is but a fraction of the horrors to be encountered here, it simply is not possible to properly describe the amount of strange and terrible that has penetrated this place...so please, for the sake of all that is good, keep yourself from this place. The myth of wonder, splendor and opportunity are crushed under the weight of something much more sinister, much more nefarious. If you wish to save whatever scraps of humanity that remain within yourself you shall evade this place at all costs, for the curiosity that will bring you here is nothing compared to the crushing disappointment and anguish at the knowledge of what lurks in broad daylight.