Welcome to the inaugural post of Irritable Male Syndrome. I think the title speaks for itself. If you're easily offended, this is probably not the site for you, but you if you like random babble, stick around. We both may just learn something.

Without further Apu, I give you the today's post.

Today is my mom's [>50]st/nd/rd/th birthday, and in about less than an hour, I'm headed out to Buffalo for dinner at my brother's house. It isn't a heavily planned party, but I should probably stop off at Target to pick up a greeting card.

I hate greeting cards. Nothing says trite and unimaginative like a $3 piece of carboard laser printed with Anne Geddes babies, pretty flowers and flowing words. Here you go, mom. None of the sentiments contained therein are original, or even mine for that matter, but hey, I broke a fiver for you! Who loves ya, baby?

But, my mom dig's cheesy shit like that. She feigns like she doesn't, but my brother, dad and I know different. I've been less than a great son, and I think I know how to totally redeem myself-- I'm going to stop off at Target to buy the perfect birthday card, but I'm not going to give it to her. Oh no, I'm going to write down whatever it says on college-ruled paper, hawking the lovely passages off as my own. I might even try to draw a rose. I'm not sure yet, but I feel like doing something just that dangerous.

My mom will love it. She might even cry. Nothing makes my mom misty-eyed quite like greeting card plagiarism. Woohoo!

Think about it, though--don't words and feelings mean more when they come from the heart? Yeah, yeah, so I'm lying to her. So what? Will she ever find out? Of course not!

Does it make me any worse of a person? Of course it does. That's the beauty of it!

Great, now I'm starting to realize how many weird situations that I could've gotten out if only I'd thought of this earlier.

Dear Amy,

Sorry you caught me fellating your dog.[turn page]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Love, Chad.

I looked, but I couldn't find the Canine Oral Pleasure/Birthday section at Target.