by Danny Tyree

Even though I’ve been writing this column for more than 17 years, my mother still takes a perverse pride in meeting new people and badgering them into admitting that THEY don’t “get” my sense of humor, either.

She and my aunt have repeatedly voiced their opinion that I should write “something sensible” that a “normal human” would understand.

As the late, great Merle Haggard sang, “Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied.” So I’m still doing my tongue-in-cheek third annual tribute to mothers down through history who haven’t received the proper respect. For example:

Green Bay Packers coaching legend Vince Lombardi’s mother, who said, “No, winning isn’t the only thing — you also have to remember to bring your trophy home, doofus.”

Charles Darwin’s mom, who said, “Kissing your great-aunt isn’t going to kill you — and if it does, it just proves you weren’t the fittest.”

The mother of “Soylent Green” star Charlton Heston, who warned, “Don’t touch that. You don’t know WHO it has been.”

Showman P.T. Barnum’s mater, who agreed, “Maybe there’s a sucker born every minute — but I’ll bet none of them put their mother through the sort of labor pains YOU did!”

Popeye the Sailor Man’s mother, who fumed, “Stop all this jazz about living in a frying pan! I don’t need Child Protective Services beating down the door.”

James Bond author Ian Fleming’s mom, who declared, “If you think you’re getting THESE either shaken OR stirred, you’ll have to settle for a bottle of formula, kid.”

Ellen DeGeneres’s mother, who promised, “Someday your prince will come — and maybe he’ll be carrying a secret note from his sister.”

Elvis’s mother, who complained, “You’ve got some explaining to do, young man. The neighbors found a hunk’a hunk’a burning SOMETHING on their front porch.”

Willie Nelson’s mother, who demanded to know, “If all your friends were being rolled up and smoked when they died, would you be rolled up and smoked when you died?”

Rose Kennedy, who asked little JFK, “What’s all this ‘Ich bin ein toddler’ stuff?”

Johnny Cash’s mother, who announced, “The baby just walked his first line!”

Mount Everest explorer Sir Edmund Hillary’s mom, who insisted, “’Because it was there’ is no reason for me to clean up that mountain of laundry in your bedroom, you little ingrate.”

Poet Emily Dickinson’s mother, who grumbled, “Because you could not stop for the ice cream man, he kindly stopped for YOU? I told you to come straight home, missie!”

Hulk Hogan’s mother, who cajoled, “Just act nice for the home movie, and you’ll never have to fool with an embarrassing video again.”

Charles M. Schulz’s mom, who said, “So the puppy followed you home? And can you keep him — and his Sopwith Camel????”

Author Stephen King’s mother, who said, “So the puppy followed you home? RUN! Run for your life! But not to the car! And watch out for clowns! And prom dresses!”

Untold numbers of mothers during Europe’s Black Death, who answered chants of “Bring out your dead!” with “Not until they’ve got clean underwear!”

Perhaps next Mother’s Day I’ll be less jocular and try something more sober, more traditional, more uplifting. Maybe we can even persuade Paula Deen to cater the event. You remember her mother, right? The one who insisted, “No running with scissors — unless they’re deep-fried scissors. Mmmm…?”

DANNY TYREE welcomes email responses at tyreetyrades@aol.com and visits to his Facebook fan page.