The Cancer B*stard

Dear Mother
I hope you are well. I am doing fine, but wish you were here. A weekend away seems such a long time. Have just met a girl who I think could be the one. Like you, she is pretty and really nice. I am sure the two of you will get on like a house on fire.

Your ever-devoted son,
Cancer.

Well, we couldn't have put it better ourselves. You're the house; she's the fire. And guess which one which one of you ends up the worse for wear?

To be fair, though, every mother openly loves her son and therefore secretly resents his girlfriend. In return, every son secretly loves his mother and openly resents his girlfriend. But any boy should have the decency to look visibly embarrassed when mummy combs his hair and wipes his face with a hanky laced with her own spit. When he's thirty-eight.
However, we're not talking about a grown man here, are we? We're talking about Cancer. So if you've just fallen in love with one, best of luck. Hopefully the old bag is dead. Because if she is still rattling around, you don't stand a bloody chance. The Cancer b*stard's relationship with his mother is the keystone to his existence. His ties to the apron strings make Oedipus look like a well-balanced type who left home at an early age and occasionally remembered to send his mother a birthday card.
Either Cancer dotes on mother to death and no other woman can become betwixt, or else he hates her guts and therefore detests that 51 percent of the population capable of bearing children.

It's probably better he leans toward the latter because that way, he??ll be so repellant, you won't want to go anywhere near him. Unfortunately, he's more likely to be trotting over to her coven on a regular basis on a regular basis, affording her the opportunity to watch every wrong move you make. And let us tell you now: you won't be good enough for her son. Which she will tell him. And then tell him to tell you. This is often why Cancer will put off introductions between the two of you as long as possible, and it is the only aspect of his widespread gutlessness to be applauded and, indeed, encouraged.
To your face, Cancer??s mother will be as sweet as pie. But when you've looked beyond the wart on the end of her nose, and begun to watch very, very closely, you'll soon realize where the term son-of-a-b!tch came from.
She??ll generously load your plate with kilos of kilojoules in the hope you'll end up as fat as her. Then. After you politely refu

After you politely refuse a second helping, she??ll kindly enquire after your eating disorder.
When Cancer — who is in his high-chair at the kitchen bench toying with his mashed steak, away from the adults — looks certain to leap to your defense, she??ll fix him with the kind of glare that makes you all of a sudden want to reach for the dictionary and find out what —g!mlet?? actually is. She??ll subliminally click her tongue when you let him get up and wash his own bowl and spoon. It goes without saying, she??ll be silently apoplectic when you pass him your plate to wash as well. When she can bring herself to speak again, she will innocently ask you why women of today can never seem to hold on to their men. This will prompt you to wonder why you haven't yet seen hide or hair of Cancer??s father. (Popular myth says the Cancer b*stard didn't have a father. Common legend has it, he was spawned. Stark reality deems Dad died years ago of filial disappointment.)
As things are now beginning to get a bit strained between you and her, Cancer will pull one of his infamous panic attacks. This translates into a very mild fever, the faintest hint of the tremors, a few tears and an inability to finish whatever he's doing at the time. You won't help matters much by callously standing by whilst mother rushes to his side, clears his air passage of any obstructions, does a quick Heimlich Manoeuvre and whips the sponge out of his shaking hands to do the dishes for him.
How were you to know about the dark family secret? No one told you Cancer was struck down at a tragically young age with mad cow??s disease. Now more popularly known as mother-who-molly-coddles. To date, your idea of babying an adult male has been to chuck him a codeine capsule as you waltz out the door to that all-important meeting or party.

So aggrieved you haven't given him the milk of human kindness he so richly deserves and mother still provides by way of bottled formula, Cancer will proceed to do what he does best and have a —mood??. The huffs, puffs and sulks of Cancer, make his namesake seem like a really fun thing to have around. And just when you think the thing is in remission, he??ll scowl for a change of scenery.

Don't be tempted to ask what's wrong, because he??ll just say —nothing??. And, be reasonable, he's hardly had time to get to know you over the last three years, with all that self-introspection he's had to do. The only way to make amends is

In order to keep him in the sheltered life style she believes to be his birthright, Cancer??s mother never charged him board. Therefore Cancer has learnt over the years to enjoy hoarding money. And, since the brain-addled bat also discouraged him from being ambitious enough to get a well paid career when he grew up (because then he might flee the nest), he's had to be extraordinarily mean in order to accumulate a lot of it.
On the off chance he does lash out on you (a box of home brand chocolates is always an encouraging sign), he??ll be so racked with worry about his proliferate spending, he??ll secretly hold it against you for months. So, if he does grudgingly proffer an extravagant gift, express your eternal gratitude, discreetly return it to the discount store from whence it came, and surreptitiously deposit the money back into his bank account.
Of course, this is precisely what he wanted you to do, but was too afraid to ask, because then you might scold him for being a sneaky, selfish little brat and just wait till you tell his mother! If there's one thing he's more terrified of than being upfront, it's the thought of her walking steadily towards him with a grim expression and a heavy wooden coat-hanger.

HOW TO SPOT ONE
The grown man with the attributes of a vile child is invariably Cancer. If he's also wearing a nappy, back off. He's either too young for you, or too old.

WHERE TO FIND ONE
In a bookstore asking for directions to the self-help section; in a Good Samaritan bin shopping for your birthday present; out drinking with the lads, just to prove he's one of them (however, one alcoholic beverage too many [one] and he??ll be whinging about how hard it ish to find a woman who can live up to hish mothersh expectashuns).

HOW TO INTRIGUE ONE
Tell him you like his mother. Tell him you like him. Or be honest, straightforward and positive and tell both of them to drop dead.

THE FIRST DATE
He??ll invite you over to dinner and cook for you because it's cheaper than going out. On the rare occasion he invites you to his mother??s place, it??ll only be because he still lives there.

WHEN TO DO THE DEED
When he's declared his undying love. Which he will. Very quickly. He's a two-fingers-down-the-throat romantic who used to steal glances at his mother??s Barbara Cartland novels when normal boys were shoplifting Hustler. Just don't be surprised when he takes it back again the next morning — particularly after m

ok ok but wheres the one for girls im a guy with a cancer i want to see it for a female —?

HILARIOUS!!!!!!!!!!