This is Bill O'Reilly's mother with the most ridiculous item of the day - my son. Oh lord, that boy has always been a handful, since the day he was born. I always used to hope that he would find a job where his obnoxious behavior would help him blend in, like a used car salesman. But no, he has to go and be a big shot commentator so that he can embarrass me every single damn day of my life.

But this time he's really outdone himself. Naming nice people as terrorists every night on his TV show? Who does he think he is - Joltin' Joe McCarthy? That's not the way I raised him. So I called him up and gave him a good piece of my mind.

"But mom," he tells me, "I'm not calling them terrorists, I'm calling them terrorist helpers". He's always been one to try and weasel word his way out of things, ever since he was a little boy.

"Don't make no difference," I told him, "you're calling them traitors no matter which way you spin it."

"I don't spin, mom," he says, and I say "like hell you don't boy. Half the things you say don't make any sense. How can the UN or the BBC be traitors?"

"Because they hate America, mom," he whines in that whiny whine of his.

I say "Someone's going to come up to you one of these days and punch you right in the nose, mister big talk, all because of your foolish mouth".

"Who's not making sense now," he says, like he's got me on a technicality. "How could the BBC punch me in the nose? That would be ridiculous."

"They could send a secret agent out to do it," I tell him. "Maybe they won't be so nice. Maybe they'll break your kneecaps and you'll have to ride around in a wheelchair. I'll bet you never thought about that, have you?"

"Sure I have, mom. I've thought about it a lot. Listen, if it'll make you feel better, I'll say a few extra Hail Marys tonight, okay? The bad guys are getting what they deserve, that's all that's happening here. And thank God we still live in a country where a man like me is still free to speak his mind. Why do you hate America, mom?"

And I just hang up on that note. I swear that boy is going to give me apoplexy.


2005, Mark Hoback