One bad mo-fo

A while ago, I was dating a woman with two teenage sons. One evening, we were all going out to dinner. As typical, the boys were insulting each other in the back seat. We pretty much ignored them, until the older boy called his brother a “mo-fo.”

I whipped my head around at that. (Luckily, she was driving.) “Ike, I presume you don’t know exactly what that means, do you?”

“Um… nooo…”

“I didn’t think so. However, I do. If I EVER hear of you using it again, I’ll make sure your mother does, too.”

Later, when they were both away from the table (it was a buffet), she bullied me into telling her exactly what it stood for. When he returned she let him have it with both barrels. Sans explanation, though.

To this day, I still wonder if he ever did find out exactly what “mo-fo” is short for… and why it is so bad to call your brother one, while in a car with your mother. I’m still amazed I kept a straight face during the whole incident.


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