all weekend, we have taken one truism as, well, true:
Mama Shaq, Mama Shaq, Shaq’s your mom, that’s a fact.
along those lines, Grandpa Sam claimed earlier this morning that Mama Shaq not only helped polish off Scav Whiskey #14, but also helps nurse us to sobriety.
i’m really not sure of that. where’s my Mama Shaq when i need her? last night, there were some of us who did good deeds, helping Mama Shaq drain as much of the Scav Whiskey as possible. but, this morning, where’s our Mama Shaq?
we’ve got Dr. Becky and Ashley, cooking us delicious breakfast food. we’ve got SPH and Gerbil, building something unspeakably evil out of Ikea parts. we’ve got John, eating ice cream, bacon, and whiskey for breakfast. and, we’ve got Grandpa Sam, holding down the fort and preaching the gospel of our Mama Shaq.
but, i’m here, i’m somewhere between still drunk from last night and hung over, and Mama Shaq is nowhere to be found. in absence of my mama, i’m taking these matters into my own hands, drinking Gatorade and planning to eat the delicious eggs and pancakes being made by Dr. Becky and Ashley. but, i know what would make me better,and that would be a big hug and a neckrub from my Mama Shaq.
Mama Shaq, Mama Shaq, Shaq’s your mom, that’s a fact.
or, is it?
